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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



DAYS of DISCOVERY 



DAYS of DISCOVERY 



BY 

BERTRAM SMITH 



NEW YORK 
E. p. DUTTON & COMPANY 

68 1 Fifth Avenue 
1917 






Published, 1917 

BY 

E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 



NOV 15 1917 



Printed in the United States of America 



TRANSFERRED FROM 
COPYRIGHT OFFICE 





CONTENTS 




I. 


The Barbarian 


PAGE 

9 


II. 


Offensive Weapons 


. 17 


III. 


Opprobrious Epithets . 


. 24 


IV. 


Revenge .... 


. 31 


V. 


The Mystic Gulf 


. 38 


VI. 


The Ordeal .... 


. 46 


VII. 


A Dinner Party 


. 51 


VIII. 


Discovery .... 


. 59 


IX. 


The Phases of Olinda . 


. 66 


X. 


The Firework Season . 


. 74 


XI. 


Secrets 


. 80 


XII. 


Variations on a Theme 


. 86 


XIII. 


Making Money 


. 93 


XIV. 


The Hotel .... 


. 100 


XV. 


Sent on Application 


. 107 


XVI. 


The Uses of the Dummy 


115 


XVII. 


White Weather 


121 


XVIII. 


Frost 


130 


XIX. 


The Gale 


137 



Contents 



XX. 


Devices and Contrivances 


page 
> 144 


XXI. 


When the Burglars Came . 


151 


XXII. 


Pains and Penalties 


158 


XXIII. 


The Beast in the Hedge 


165 


XXIV. 


The Coming of Courtesy 


172 


XXV. 


In the Train . . . . 


180 


XXVI. 


About Being in the Middle . 


187 


XXVII. 


Secret Habitations 


195 


XXVIII. 


Scoring Off .... 


202 


XXIX. 


A Strange Tongue 


208 


XXX. 


What to Be . 


216 



DAYS OF DISCOVERY 



THE BARBARIAN 

Though civilization and convention may rule 
the rest of the household with an iron hand, 
their sway stops short upon the threshold of the 
nursery, for the upbringing and development of 
a small boy are comparable to the progress of 
the race from the chaos of dark ages to the 
ordered existence of to-day. In the long run he 
must adapt himself to the conditions that 
obtain, he must leave behind his war-paint and 
the primitive habits and customs of his tribe 
and clothe himself and learn to behave; and the 
day comes when he must begin to calculate, to 
consider and to look ahead. But for the years 
when he is still able to hold his own against the 
forces that are to shape his course he has many 
things in common with certain kindred souls 

9 



lO Days of Discovery 

In virgin forest where the white man is unknown. 
Such are his attitudes towards the Ordeal of 
Battle, which he accepts as fitting and straight- 
forward — his willing agreement with the prin- 
ciple that might is right; his faculty not indeed 
for worshipping but at least for endowing with 
human attributes all manner of inanimate ob- 
jects- — ships, locomotives and the like. I well 
remember a time when an Atlantic liner was 
quite as much alive to me as an elephant and 
had a much more striking personality. How 
could one read the thoughts or imagine the 
sensations of an elephant? But one knew very 
well what a ship felt like as she moved among 
the lesser craft with a slow and easy swagger up 
the tideway or dragged tired limbs to dock after 
a stormy crossing. 

I am told — I had myself forgotten it; it is 
the sort of thing one does forget — that I was 
presented at an early age to a fellow-pupil for 
the first time. We shook hands, under pressure, 
and as soon as we were left alone, "I'm bigger 
than you," said I. *Tes,'' said he, "but I can 
knock you down" — which he did. That Is 
essentially a prehistoric form of Introduction. 
We could not have been expected to settle down 



The Barbarian ii 

to any friendly relation until it had been de- 
monstrated which of us was the better man. 

Many other savage customs flourish in the 
nursery — slavery most obviously, unless it be put 
down by a superior power. Strangest of all is 
that callous and barbaric cruelty which seems to 
crop up sporadically in boys by no means heart- 
less or unfeeling. Once let him get his enemy in 
his power and a boy will often distress Those In 
Authority and even amaze himself, when he 
comes to reflect upon it, by an action of instinc- 
tive brutality. Archie, my younger brother, had 
been climbing for a missel-thrush's nest in the 
old holm oak on the lawn and had slipped and 
fallen off a branch and come to rest head down- 
wards in an evil predicament. I had answered 
his breathless yell for assistance. "Get hold of 
my legs," shouted Archie. I surveyed him for a 
moment and then (flying in the very face of our 
common humanity), *'WI11 you lend me your 
paint-box?" I demanded calmly. "Be quick!" 
panted Archie. "Will you lend me your paint- 
box?" said I. I do not know what would have 
been the end of it, for Archie was getting very 
red in the face, had not one of Those in Authority 
also heard the call for help. One might almost 



12 Days of Discovery 

contemplate with despair this little monster who 
was capable, in the presence of helplessness and 
urgent need, of quietly taking his stand with his 
hands in his pockets and propounding his unholy 
bargain. But the paint-box was at the time a 
sore point between us and why should I give 
away chances ? Had the bargain been completed, 
the paint-box lent and the sufferer rescued I 
don't think the incident would have disturbed 
the friendly relations between the contracting 
parties. Archie was fairly had: he must have 
seen that. 

The boy maintains the same primitive and 
barbaric attitude in his dealings with the Goddess 
of Fortune, his traffic with luck and chances. 
Luck is a vital element in his life : he is sur- 
rounded by unseen forces, ordering and controll- 
ing the events of every day. It is an unshaken 
faith In his luck that supplies the motive power 
in half his escapades. Whether he be trying to 
capture blackbirds with Old John Gardener's 
riddle and a string, or fishing for tadpoles In the 
pit, or dodging callers, or hoping he is not late 
for tea — it is his luck that counts. There is a 
special virtue In It. One of his purest delights Is 
in finding things — not, of course, things that he 



The Barbarian 13 

has lost but things that have been lost by other 
people. In this he will display great patience 
and ingenuity; and a knife encountered in the 
street, a pencil, or best of all a coin has for him a 
special significance far beyond its face value. He 
will treasure it with splendid exultation, proud 
beyond words of his luck. 

He dearly loves taking chances. In his fine 
craving for the whole flavour and intensity of 
existence he must have his fill of surprises, of 
startling Incidents, of risks. But he does not 
gamble, as do those of riper years, In any hope of 
gain; generally speaking he has everything to 
lose. Rather is his the attitude of the savage 
who will stake his head upon a wager. In truth 
he Is often nearer to staking his head than he 
realizes and many of us can look back upon dizzy 
and Insensate adventures undertaken for no better 
reason than that we were ''dared to do It." There 
was a rotton old line of trellis surmounting a high 
wall and accessible from the bathroom window, 
where In days of long ago valuable lives might 
more than once have been lost in no better cause 
than this. Any precarious pathway, any break- 
neck climb, any dangerous and forbidden neigh- 
bourhood was In Itself an invitation to adventure. 



14 Days of Discovery 

But the risk to life and limb was not the only 
fruit of this one-sided gambling spirit. One had 
a passion for the Ordeal in divers forms. One 
was continually subjecting oneself to meaningless 
tests, pitting oneself against all manner of in- 
visible antagonists. One would throw one's whole 
soul into the endeavour to peel off a stocking while 
standing on one leg. One would freely bind 
oneself not to open one's eyes in the morning 
till one had groped one's way to the bathroom. 
And if success crowned these earnest perform- 
ances one was not without a sordid sense of 
achievement, whereas if they failed It meant bad 
luck. 

Perhaps these eccentricities carried us further 
than is usual, for ours was a nursery full of boys 
and my little sister alone represented the temper- 
ing influence of a wiser, saner sex. But it was 
ever thus. Luck played a part in every trans- 
action. Nothing could be well decided without 
tossing up or drawing lots. And for myself I 
loved to consult by occult means a vague and 
arbitrary oracle. I would tell myself that if the 
number of flies upon the celling was divisible by 
seven we should have a fine day for our picnic; 
if I could hit a certain tree with a certain stone I 



The Barbarian 15 

might not after all be kept in for neglected sums; 
if the first man I met had on brown boots I 
should be in time for my train. Indeed I must 
have lived in a world of dark and pagan super- 
stition of my own creation; and at the same 
time I maintained a swaggering attitude towards 
the stock superstitions, of adamant superiority 
and smiling scorn. I looked down with amaze- 
ment and despair upon the intellectual level of 
the old woman in the ice-cream shop who drew 
down the blind lest she see the first of the new 
moon through glass. I regarded it as a duty, a 
special mission to fly in the face of all such im- 
pious beliefs. I would spill salt with much 
bravado, cross knives ostentatiously, to the horror 
of the under-nurse. I would go far out of my 
way, insolently whistling, to walk beneath a 
ladder; and if I could count thirteen at table 
gleefully proclaimed the fact and I had no mercy 
on the fearful. 

Seventeen was ever my lucky number: I think 
it still is. In a multitude of ways I drew from it 
comfort and support. Were I loth to get out of 
bed I would search the room for seventeen units 
that would bring the needed stimulus. Seven- 
teen rings on a curtain or books on a shelf would 



1 6 Days of Discovery 

do. And I would start the day the better for 
them. Many of the decisive actions of my life 
were timed to the seventeenth tick of a clock, 
the seventeenth swing of a hammock or quack of 
a duck. ... 

I am afraid you may have found me out. It 
is true that the small boy, whose doings, fancies 
and confessions fill these pages was at no time an 
attractive child. But for my part I sympathize 
with him still and when I look back across the 
great Dividing Line to the glowing, teeming 
world in which he lived, I am well content to 
know that he made the most of it and need not 
now reproach himself with wasted opportunities. 



II 

OFFENSIVE WKIPONS 

Each had its use — the Bow and Arrow, the Cata- 
pult, the Pea Shooter, the Squirt — and each its 
period of exclusive popularity. 

The Catapult perhaps hardly deserves to be 
regarded as an effective member of the group. 
We approached it with awe and looked forward to 
it with hope, as being rather the proper weapon 
of the schoolboy. To us it was more a magnifi- 
cent possession, a treasure, than a practical im- 
plement — a thing to husband closely in the pocket, 
where the hand at any moment might grip it 
lovingly, to be taken out on fitting occasions and 
flicked nonchalantly about by way of showing 
off: whose handle could be bound and rebound 
at short intervals with whipcord, whose elasticity 
was subject of frequent test and trial. One would 
have been very sorry to have been without a 
catapult, but if the whole truth must be divulged 
one was more than a little chary of actually 

17 



1 8 Days of Discovery 

letting It off. One had hit one's thumb more 
than once at that game. 

The Bow and Arrow had a considerable vogue. 
We were all Robin Hoods then. Very soon we 
threw over the accepted types, which could be 
bought in shops, as lacking true romance. A bow 
was one of the many things (like walking-sticks, 
stilts and, of course, catapults) that no shop- 
keeper had ever understood. We cut our own — 
of trusty yew. Nor had we any opinion at all of 
smooth, sleek, be-feathered arrows. We must 
make our own — always with the aid of Old John 
Gardener — securely tipped with lead, and labori- 
ously scrubbed with sandpaper. We would 
rejoice greatly — as would not have been possible 
in the case of a mere shop arrow — in the exploit 
of the champion shaft of the hour, till such time 
as he was lost to us in some prodigious flight. 
Yet we never had the fullest satisfaction from 
bows and arrows, for they were subject to con- 
fining regulation and restriction. Ever since the 
day when Archie (who was only trying the effect 
of a new bow-string in the nursery) let fly an 
arrow inadvertently across the room, narrowly 
escaping homicide and transfixing the picture of 
General Gordon which hung upon the wall: — 



Offensive Weapons 19 

ever since that unlucky day bows and arrows were 
accounted too dangerous for promiscuous use. 
They had their alloted seasons, their fixed occa- 
sions, even their prescribed lines of flight. There 
was, in a word, altogether too much red tape 
about the Bow and Arrow. 

In striking contrast was the position of the 
Pea Shooter, which was essentially without a 
trace of official recognition. It was never allowed 
to become conspicuous enough to be subject to 
any such hampering restrictions. It was the 
weapon of stealth, the weapon of the sharp- 
shooter taking '^pot-shots" (which was the term 
then in vogue) from a point of safe seclusion. It 
was responsible for a vast amount of fine guerilla 
warfare. Its office was to *'pepper" and annoy: 
to plant a well directed pea in the heart of a 
group of callers from the hidden branches of a 
neighboring tree; or rake the serried ranks of 
the girls' school next door when they walked out 
to take the air. Naturally it was subject to 
frequent confiscation. But a new one was not 
far to seek. It could be cut at any time from the 
elderberry bush in the shrubbery; the pith 
ejected with a knitting needle ; the finished weapon 
dried, seasoned and ready for work within the day. 



20 Days of Discovery 

But, while I would not for a moment be un- 
grateful to the memory of these others, it was 
the Squirt that really counted. For all offensive 
tactics a jet of water is incomparably better than 
a pea, in the thrillling act of nervous pressure 
with which it is driven forth, softly hissing on 
its way, in a certain unfailing humour, not easy 
to explain, which belongs to it, and in the fact 
that it leaves its mark behind and the victim can- 
not deny that he too was struck. Oh, yes, squirts 
were the great stand-by. They were seldom 
altogether Idle for a day, for one carried one's 
squirt quite as a matter of course as a man may 
carry a penknife or a watch. And indeed a squirt 
of the true orthodox type (for this was one of 
the things that the shops did understand) with its 
long, cylindrical barrel and sharply tapered nose 
of smooth, unbattered lead is truly a delightful 
object. Even the garden syringe, although far 
more tremendous in its effects (and additionally 
desirable because it was prohibited) could not 
seriously compete with the massive and effective 
tenpenny squirt or even with the slender little 
threepenny model, so handy for quiet and un- 
obtrusive attack. 

The Squirt, in addition to a thousand other 



Offensive Weapons 21 

obvious activities, was the chosen weapon of the 
Duel. Behold the two combatants face to face, 
at a distance of perhaps four feet, each kneeling 
in front of his basin of water, each closely en- 
wrapped In a mackintosh, each delivering at the 
word of command from the referee destructive 
streams at his opponent's features. It was often 
hard to judge, when the ammunition was ex- 
hausted, who had proved the victor. Both had 
shared In the sheer Intoxication of the fray. 
Both were blinded, saturated and bedraggled, 
and one need ask no more than that. 

And one day a wicked whisper came to me — 
the outcome of that restless desire with which 
we were so often possessed to try to Improve upon 
a good thing. Must it he water? Why should It 
be water? It was to that diabolical suggestion 
that I owe the treasured memory of an evening 
on which I really tasted power. Open rebellion 
was not new to me, nor occasions of reckless defi- 
ance. One had defied authority by running away. 
But to defy authority in hand-to-hand conflict! 
— It was by all odds a grander moment. Our true 
parents and guardians were away from home and 
an uncle and aunt were In charge on the evening 
when I suddenly stampeded, threw off all restraint 



22 Days of Discovery . 

and with my new tenpenny charged with inlc 
boldly faced the world. Seated astride the high 
end of the sofa with my back to the wall I blankly 
refused to go to bed, meeting all advances with 
the blackened end of my lethal weapon — *'An- 
other step and I fire!" Gradually it dawned 
upon me what an overwhelmingly strong position 
was mine, quite as good in its way as any anarchist 
who turns at bay with a revolver. By the ex- 
penditure of a few drops — which left their mark 
in a dotted line upon the carpet for years to 
come — I made it clear to all that I meant what 
I said. And they cowered before me and drew 
back. It was one of those occasions when "they 
could do nothing with me" — the uncle and 
aunt must be sent for; and It was a most for- 
tunate circumstance that they were on the point 
of going out to dine and therefore quite excep- 
tionally vulnerable to a point-blank jet of Ink. 
My blood was up : words were of no avail. No, I 
was not going to bed, as a matter of fact I was not 
going to bed for hours, I was simply going to 

sit where I was. And one step forward . 

Thus I held them through some heady minutes 
of dizzy triumph, while my allle's looked on 
admiring, almost worshipping. I was about to 



Offensive Weapons 23 

formulate further terms when the fray ended, 
prematurely as it seemed to me, in a sudden rush, 
behind cover of an umbrella in which I was 
borne down, captured and disarmed. 

But my weapon was empty ere I relinquished 
It. I had left my mark. 



Ill 

OP PR OB RIO US . EPI THE TS 

It was in the early age of more active and vigor- 
ous rebellion, before one had begun to see the 
advantages of bowing to the storm, and trying to 
reach one's ends by subtler means, that sheer 
terms of abuse bulked largely in our vocabulary. 
In truth I think we must have been a desperate 
team to drive. When I remember the ever- 
present resentment with which we regarded all 
necessary Instructions, and still more the lurid 
terms In which It was expressed, I am inclined to 
marvel at the whole-hearted and thorough-going 
methods of the barbarous age of boyhood. The 
under-nurse of the moment was one's prime ad- 
versary. Only at times of overpowering exas- 
peration did one turn upon the head nurse, and 
one was apt to regret It afterwards, for she had 
"a way with her" that somehow lifted her above 
the level of attack. But each new under-nurse 
must be made to feel at the outset that you 

24 



opprobrious Epithets 25 

would go to bed when It suited your convenience 
and not before, that you would come out of your 
bath when In your opinion the proper moment 
had arrived, and your exit would not be hastened 
by any new method she might adopt of holding 
an expectant towel. She would drive you forth 
of course after a time — having first of all counted 
twenty, then fifty, and then a hundred without 
result — by application of the cold tap; but then 
you told her what you thought of her. 

Swearing was known to be one of the most 
deadly sins, and therefore held In awe. That 
was forbidden ground on which one would never 
dare to trespass. But a difficulty was continually 
arising as to the definition of what was swearing. 
It was a subject frequently and earnestly debated, 
especially when a splendid new word or expres- 
sion had become our common property. Was it 
swearing? The trouble was that it was no use 
going for Information to Grown-up Persons, who 
alone would be likely to know, for one would be 
told that whether it was swearing or not It was 
''not at all a nice word for us to use" — which 
wasn't the point. For If It was not swearing it 
was a sinful waste not to use it. Thus in our 
wordy warfare, when one or the other of the com- 



26 Days of Discovery 

batants had stepped beyond the usual range and 
employed an expression of a higher flavour than 
was customary, his opponent had only to say 
''That's swearing"; to pull him up at once. 
It was equivalent to telling him that he wasn't 
playing the game. Upon which he would of 
course deny it, and then the original point in 
dispute was happily forgotten in the Interesting 
investigation which followed. The disputed word 
must be submitted to a committee of experts 
and we would solemnly make up our minds 
whether it was admissible or no. But if It was 
adjudged by common consent to be outside the 
legitimate list of expressions, its user needed no 
condemnation from his fellows. He would suffer 
from an inward remorse at the thought of the 
dreadful thing that he had done, howbeit all 
unwittingly. In truth we kept remarkably on the 
safe side. In the absence of an authoritative 
statement we were careful to draw the line in 
such a way that there could be no possibility of 
error. 

One by one words lost their force and flavour 
by lavish repetition. I can see now that we 
squandered them too freely. One was far too 
much given to firing off the best word in all one's 



opprobrious Epithets 27 

armoury upon a trivial occasion, instead of waiting 
for a situation worthy of it, where it might be 
expected to tell with effect. There was of course 
a certain element of competition which was 
largely responsible for this prodigality, for I must 
get the best words in before my adversary had 
thought of them. He could not possibly retaliate 
In the same terms. And so, when times were 
dull, and no new material had been found for 
long, one must go on using outworn phrases with 
a sort of persistent weariness. There were even 
occasions when one became almost courteous and 
restrained In one's conversation for want of new 
matter. Words also, as a rule, worked down from 
the higher level to the lower in the course of 
their brief activity. They were generally intro- 
duced by the older members, who would bring 
them into play with great effect at first. But 
when they were taken up by those below their 
original authors repudiated them after a while. 
Till In their last most lowly estate they came to 
be lisped by my little sister In her rare moments 
of asperity. 

This was the fate of *'Cad" and "Lunatic." 
"Outsider" had a brief and brilliant run. "Rot- 
ter" was enormously popular, and even re- 



28 Days of Discovery 

curred, after Its first long innings, in several 
vigorous revivals, so hardly did we come to part 
with It. But there was, so far as I remember, no 
more dramatic moment than the Introduction of 
"Blighter," used with startling effect on Sidney, 
my elder brother, on the occasion of an alterca- 
tion as to who it was who had first seen a found 
penny on the road. Even the penny was forgotten 
In the general rejoicing at this magnificent acquisi- 
tion. But its course was brief. A strong suspicion 
grew up that it was swearing: and though It was 
upon the tip of one's tongue a thousand times 
thereafter, it was never again hurled forth In all 
its glory. "Half-wit" was Invented or discovered 
by myself, and In consequence I always had a 
peculiar weakness for it. Perhaps I have still. 
It was not, like so many of its compeers, adapted 
to a sudden shout of anger. But it could be driven 
home with enormous effect by the hammer of a 
scathing scorn. 

Then there were the various places that you 
could be told to go to. So valuable was this form, 
In the traffic of everyday intercourse, that it 
was never wholly allowed to drop, although the 
victim's destination was continually being altered 
and revised. The difficulty was to handle It 



opprobrious Epithets 29 

without encroaching upon the forbidden territory 
of swearing, for there are places that one is told 
to go to even in after life, that had to be avoided. 
But you freely were told to go to Jericho or to go 
to Portobello. Best of all you could be told to 
go to Blazes — which, by the way, was felt to be 
sailing very near the wind. 

The entire traffic in abuse had thus its artis- 
tic side, which perhaps did something to re- 
deem it. It was not enough to revile in any 
terms that came to hand. They must be fresh 
and vigorous or they went for nothing. One had 
perhaps picked up a brand new Insult from a book 
or In a tramcar and one would dwell upon 
It earnestly in private, trying to assess its value, 
to foresee its effect. The moment came at last 
when It was launched Into the world, not without 
some nervousness. For its author must watch 
Its effect In two separate directions; first upon his 
opponent — would it make him squirm? Secondly 
upon the company at large — would it be received, 
admired, adopted? The latter was much the 
more Important question. If It was introduced 
by a younger brother especially, he would 
await the Issue with anxiety. And were he to 
hear it later on upon the lips of an elder. 



30 Days of Discovery 

with what fine pride would he reflect that it 
was his. 

I had been out to tea — surely it must have 
been very early In my criminal career — and there 
had heard a new and glorious word, splendidly 
adapted, so It seemed to me, for use on the new 
under-nurse. But when I was taken off to bed — 
obviously the proper moment for its first appear- 
ance — I could by no means remember it! Long 
and deeply did I ponder, during the process of 
undressing and in my bath. It was not "Beast" 
and yet it was allied to *'Beast." I was so 
"good" that night that not even twenty had 
to be counted ere I gave myself up to the towel. 
But the truth was I was deep in thought, trying 
with all my power to recapture my lost treasure. 
I had reached the night nursery before it came to 
me. I was in the very act of being congratulated 
upon my model behaviour. There could have 
been no more dramatic moment to test its quality. 
I sprang across the room, turned upon my un- 
fortunate conductor. 

"You Brute!" I shouted and tumbled into 
bed. 



IV 

REVENGE 

Generally speaking, one grew out of one's 
enmities and animosities even more rapidly than 
one grew out of one's clothes. There was no 
doubt a time when If strained relations existed 
between two of us we attacked each other at 
sight (remembering the guiding principle that if 
you scratched you left your mark, but If you 
pinched there was no evidence against you). 
But at least we did not harbour and maintain 
our enmity. Even In the event of that most 
terrible and desolating tragedy of childhood, a 
miscarriage of justice, our dark fury against the 
oppressor did not long survive. Retaliation must 
follow very quickly or not at all. But there 
would be some hours of bitter resentment all 
the same. For one made no allowances: the 
bald and naked truth stood out in all its hideous 
enormity. One had a terrible, uncompromising 
sense of justice In those days. There was, I am 

31 



32 Days of Discovery 

sure, no calamity v/hich could so darken the whole 
aspect of existence as to be punished for something 
which one had not done. Then one sought some 
distant solitude — ^by preference an actively un- 
comfortable one — and there brooded upon one's 
wrongs and let them rankle deep. At first one 
felt that it was just no use going on at all, in the 
face of this sort of thing. One supposed one 
would have to run away — it would be a great 
bore — one had after all been very happy here, 
until this happened, and the outside world was 
by repute inclement. But what could one do? 
It was no use trying to go on as If nothing had 
happened. The next phase, so far as I can recall 
it, was that In which one pondered upon the 
attractions of "making them sorry," not by any 
aggressive action on one's own part, but by some 
noble example of silent suffering, patiently borne. 
Suppose that one did run away and met with a 
cab accident at the very door (it would have to 
happen In the earliest stages) : suppose one were 
carried In, limp and pale, and deposited upon 
the dining-room table (one would occupy the 
centre of the stage much more effectively there 
than on a mere bed). Then they would be sorry. 
Suppose one were to starve oneself to death, 



Revenge 33 

calmly and without a tear? That would give 
them more time to relent. Or it might even be 
possible to go one better than that. If one were 
to lose one's life in saving Archie from drowning, 
and they only found out afterwards that it really 
had been Archie who had done it — who had, 
that is, turned on the taps in the bathroom and 
left them running? I think we may safely say 
that they would be sorry then. . . . There was 
the tea bell ! One could afford to laugh, harshly, 
cynically at that summons. It would be ridicu- 
lous and impossible to appear at tea before one 
had made up one's mind as to whether one was 
going to starve or not. And the room was getting 
dark. All the better; that was quite in the pic- 
ture. It wanted that to furnish the completed 
situation of the shivering outcast. . . . But one 
was hungry — ^beastly hungry. And, however 
much one might set one's teeth and hold on to 
it by might and main, the shadow was already 
lifting. Other thoughts would insist upon in- 
truding themselves, all sorts of jolly little sug- 
gestions kept cropping up. One had intended, 
before all this happened, to spend the evening 
finishing that kite. If it hadn't been for this, 
one would have had to make up one's mind 



34 Days of Discovery 

whether to paint It red or green. If this had 
been an ordinary day, with no great catastrophe 
to upset it, one might have added another four 
feet to the tall of it. And to-morrow was a half 
holiday, and there was every prospect of a good 
wind. And . . . 

It was no use. It had been very fine in its way 
— a noble and profound experience, but it was 
quite impossible to keep it up. Hilarious voices 
in the distance completed the cure. What did 
It all matter after all? 

It was only In the very earliest stages while the 
injury was still fresh, before the long train of 
beautiful and melancholy reflection set in, that 
one admitted projects of revenge. If any op- 
portunity occurred then for hitting back with 
effect it would be recklessly accepted. 

It must be said that miscarriages of justice 
were of the rarest occurrence — so rare indeed 
that one remembers most of them even now. 
But I remember best of all the affair of the tennis 
court, because that was the one occasion on 
which I may be said to have scored. 

There was to be a tennis party, actually the 
first tennis party — for the court had only been 
constructed during the previous winter. Pre- 



Revenge 35 

parations were afoot and the nursery was in a 
state of keen excitement. The greatest event 
was the production by Old John Gardener of a 
fascinating new machine, which was pushed by 
two handles up and down the lawn, leaving 
behind it a white track or trail. We watched him 
with the utmost glee marking the lines. Perhaps 
we had pestered the old man even more than 
usual: any way he began to show signs of a 
ruffled temper, and when he found the string of 
the net In a hopeless state of entanglement he 
seized me by the scruff of the neck and marched 
me Into the house for judgment. The plain 
truth was that I had not done It, but In the general 
bustle and confusion, sentence was passed without 
a proper hearing (all that I wanted was a fair 
enquiry) and I found myself condemned to spend 
the next half-hour on a chair far from the scene 
of action, and alone. I was fortunately able to 
secure a chair that was near a window that com- 
manded the lawn. There I sat Indulging In 
immense hatred against Those In Authority, 
against old John, against tennis parties and tennis, 
and all that had contributed to my predicament. 
Suddenly an exquisite Idea came to me. I saw 
how by one fell blow I could spoil It all. The 



36 Days of Discovery 

preparations were completed before my time 
was up: In twenty minutes the guests were due 
to arrive, and the lawn was deserted. If I could 
only have the run of the garden till they camel 

I stole downstairs and made my way to the 
tap at the corner of the house, where (as I had 
hoped) the marking machine was lying, also a 
bucket of whiting. I rolled up my sleeves and 
went vigorously to work. First of all I made a 
trifling addition to the court on the near side: 
after that I threw out a sort of wing or annex 
to the opposite court. Then I added a beautiful 
semicircular bulge beside the net. Next I tried 
to work In my own Initials, but failed, and 
hastened back to the tap for further supplies. 
Then I put In two diagonals and again filled up 
my reservoir. And finally I embarked upon a 
perfect riot of delineation till the court presented 
a magnificent tangle of white lines, wholly bar-, 
barous and unmeaning. 

I might very well have stopped there, but the; 
house was silent, the French window vras open 
and my blood was up. . . . 

I found a final refuge in the shrubbery, from 
which I could watch events. Already I heard 
the first arrivals at the front door. There they 



Revenge 37 

came round the corner of the house In smiling, 
affable groups (little they knew what was In store 
for them!) dressed In elegant white flannels and 
light summer dresses. Nearly every one had a 
racquet (they might as well have left those at 
home!) and here was one who carried a box of 
balls. Deeply did I enjoy the emotions with 
which they viewed my handiwork. (They will 
have something to punish me for this time!) 
It was a pretty awkward situation of course for 
Those In Authority: it was pretty humiliating 
for Old John Gardener: but it must have been 
the purest joy for my allies from the nursery who 
had by now begun to appear. And in the end I 
was dragged forth, a little dirty, white-bespat- 
tered object, and set face to face with that 
elegant, disconcerted, disappointed throng — to 
explain myself. 

But that wasn't all. Let them wait till they 
saw the drawing-room carpet! 



THE MYSTIC GULF 

There was nothing In the old garden that ap- 
pealed to us as children more than its Eastern 
boundary. The great twelve-foot wall was the 
home and centre of all manner of queer occupa- 
tions and pursuits. It was broadly coped with free- 
stone and massively clothed with ancient ivy for 
the greater part of its course, and the top of it, 
obscured by the luxuriant leaves and scored across 
by hidden branches, formed a sort of adventurous 
and rather wobbly causeway where one might 
crawl on hands and knees looking down upon 
the world beneath. The view at the lower end 
was magnificent, extending even to the Green- 
Hill-Far-Away on the common, and at Its greater 
altitude the dizzy track ran In among the trees, 
so that one found oneself perched In a close 
neighbourhood of Impenetrable greenery on the 
near side. On the far side, not more than two 
feet beyond the wall, rose the stable of the 

38 



The Mystic Gulf 39 

adjoining house like a cliff, to the gutters where 
the sparrows dwelt far overhead. Hoisting one- 
self up by the roof of the potting-shed at the 
bottom end one made one's way along the summit, 
always scaling new altitudes, for the wall rose 
here and there in sharp curves. And thus one 
might practise the reckless sport of dropping 
from it, adding to the height by regular grada- 
tions, and adding at the same time to the tingling 
sensation of ''pins-and-needles" that character- 
ized the moment when one struck the ground. 
And there were often sparrows' nests in the ivy, 
and lost tennis balls. And there was a point 
from which one could look through the roof of the 
conservatory and run little stones down it, 
tinkling over the glass. But the highest use to 
which the old wall was put was as a vantage 
ground from which to fish in the Mystic Gulf— 
the narrow strip of ground that had been left 
stranded between the two walls when the stable 
of the Old Gentleman's House next door was 
built. It was deep and dark as any dungeon and 
splendidly mysterious, and from the very nature 
of its confined and narrow space it was quite 
untrodden by the foot of man. I suppose it was 
for that very reason that the Mystic Gulf 



40 Days of Discovery 

boasted so rich a deposit of useless odds and ends 
among the rough stones and broken slates that 
formed Its main contents. 

It so happened that the dining-room curtains 
at that time were supported by strong brass 
hooks, which could be reached with a gingerly 
outstretched arm from the top of the sideboard, 
and these served the purpose admirably. It 
required delicate manipulation to control them 
at the end of their swaying line, and some patience 
and no little skill were called for in feeling one's 
way to a point that was capable of admitting the 
hook. For it would mumble impotently about 
the smooth surface of tin cans, and the old 
umbrella-stick that was one of our most coveted 
prizes could with difficulty be raised more than 
a few inches from the ground. But we laboured 
with a whole-hearted devotion quite out of pro- 
portion to the importance of the cause, and the 
museum of relics which we had established in 
the summer-house added daily to the number of 
Its specimens. 

As time went on innovations were introduced. 
We would let down a lighted candle into the 
darkest recesses; two anglers would work in 
concert, attacking the umbrella-stick one at each 



I 



The Mystic Gulf 41 

end and trying to lift it with a perfect balance 
at the same moment. For as we became by de- 
grees skilled exponents of the sport we despised 
the more obvious prizes. There was no satisfac- 
tion In fishing up a broken fire-guard, for instance, 
or the remnant of a wicker basket. These were 
too palpably bookable. It was to the most 
serious problems that we turned longing eyes — 
the orange, the watering-pot, the twisted poker. 
It became a common practice to dedicate oneself 
for the afternoon to one of these, the baffling 
and the unattainable. "I am out for the poker 
to-day," one would announce, and until the tea- 
bell rang one would suffer no distraction from 
this stern endeavour. It was comfort enough 
to have had a bite — that is to say, to have 
perceptibly lifted the quarry clear of the 
ground. 

It was Colin, my second brother, who brought 
home the orange in an Impressive scene, during 
which It was placed with elaborate musical 
honours In the forefront of the museum. He 
had discarded his hook and line, and borrowing 
a long pole from the bleaching green had fitted 
It with a stout point of wire. With this he had 
skilfully run the orange to ground In a corner of 



42 Days of Discovery 

the wall, speared it and brought it up. The pole 
was afterwards found useful for stirring up and 
altering the position of other objects so as to 
make them more amenable to attack. 

And then there came a day when our long 
practice was put to good account, and we were 
able to save ourselves from a desperate situation 
by our familiarity with the art. For it was the 
season of sparrows' nests, and we had found one 
in the waterpipe that ran up the wall beyond. 
It was so placed that one could positively see 
the eggs by climbing and holding on in a dangerous 
and distorted position, and yet the opening was 
so small that they were not to be reached. But 
could they not be ladled out with a spoon? 
With a beautiful disregard for the value of pro- 
perty a small antique silver spoon was brought 
forthwith from the cabinet in the drawing-room, 
applied by an eager and unsteady hand, and 
dropped into the Mystic Gulf! 

Here was indeed something to fish for. Here 
was a new element of urgency, of overwhelming 
gravity introduced into the sport. Here was a 
sufficient cause to put us on our mettle. The 
candle, on being lowered, revealed the quarry 
lying well in an open space. But we recognised 



The Mystic Gulf 43 

with dismay that nothing is less vulnerable to 
hook or spear than a small silver spoon. And yet 
we triumphed. For my own inherent love of all 
that is sticky prompted me to a brilliant rescue. 
At the very moment of the ringing of the tea-bell 
that was to seal our fate, and in the centre of a 
thrilled, expectant group, holding back the ivy, I 
let down a tethered tennis ball smeared lavishly 
with birdlime. It descended with perfect pre- 
cision, and I allowed it to settle for a moment 
upon its prey before I drew it triumphantly to 
the surface. The only untoward outcome of 
the incident was an unmerited reproof to the 
housemaid for neglecting to keep the silver 
clean. 

After that the tennis ball became for a time 
the favourite bait. It would roam about the 
horrid depths gathering an unsavoury cargo of 
paper, pieces of cloth, or anything else of a 
readily adhesive nature. These were not admitted 
to the museum, but they were carefully subjected 
to examination before they were destroyed. For 
we had a wonderful faith in the possibilities of 
our Gulf, and it seemed not at all unlikely that 
one might strike a bank-note or a cheque. Such 
things did happen I 



44 Days of Discovery 

But the Gulf became exhausted. Even the 
umbrella-stick and the watering-pot had been 
retrieved, and the poker had been given up as 
hopeless. It was necessary to re-stock our waters. 
It was thus that the custom grew up of casting 
in all manner of goods and chattels for the sake 
of fishing them up again. At first they were of 
no value, and were selected solely for their fish- 
able properties, but we were not satisfied with 
that. A sort of sinister competition grew up 
between us in flinging in our most treasured 
belongings. The climax wa's reached upon a 
dreadful day when we all set to work to outbid 
each other in a reckless display of wanton and 
courageous sacrifice. The nursery cupboard was 
cleared out, private drawers were searched and 
rifled, and a great bale of miscellaneous property 
was hauled to the top of the wall — books, knives, 
paint-boxes, a telescope, a tennis racquet, and 
many other treasures. All were cast recklessly 
into the depths, and we peered down at them 
with quaking hearts and faced the task before 
us. 

I doubt not that all would have ended well 
had it not been for the thunderstorm. As it 
was, our salvage operations were carried out two 



The Mystic Gulf 45 

days later In the spirit of dark and dogged bitter- 
ness of those who must save what they can from 
the wreck. 

And we fished no more in the Mystic 
Gulf. 



VI 

THE ORDEAL 

The adventure of the Mystic Gulf was by no 
means the only occasion on which we engaged in 
sinister speculations and subjected our dearest 
belongings to the Ordeal in divers forms. This 
strange necessity by which one's goods must go 
forth to seek their fortune, as it were, led us into 
the queerest transactions. It was not that we were 
for a moment indifferent to our property. Rather 
we clung to it with a burning desire. It was 
terrible to lose it in some reckless enterprise, 
though even then one had a feeling that it had 
been sacrificed in a good cause. But there is no 
question that it had an added value and a new 
prestige when it had tempted Providence and 
been gloriously retrieved. 

I have freighted a toy boat with all my worldly 
wealth in pennies and pushed it forth, with a 
pang, from the edge of the pit. I have listened 
at night with a quaking heart to the rain upon 
the window, conscious that my new bow and 

46 



The Ordeal 47 

arrow were lying unprotected in an angle of the 
roof to which I had surreptitiously conveyed 
them. I have buried my new jack-knife in the 
shrubbery. And, best of all, I have left in the 
box that held the books in the family pew at 
church a real stylographic pen for a whole week, 
setting forth to the morning service when the 
term was over, with quite unusual alacrity. It 
was splendid to pass the church on a week day 
when it was deserted and locked up, hugging the 
private knowledge that there was a stylographic 
pen in there — a thing that no one would have 
dreamt of for a moment. 

Those in Authority did not understand this 
attitude at all. We were not fit, it appeared to 
them, we were not old enougli to have such 
things as stylographic pens and jack-knives if we 
valued them so little. But that was a colossal 
misjudgment of the case. It was just because we 
valued them, just because they were the best 
and dearest that we had that they must face the 
Ordeal. It was when Archie and I were given 
watches for the first time that we had to submit 
to the gravest indignities in this connection — 
had even to hear a favourite uncle blamed for 
his unthinking generosity. And yet I am con- 



48 Days of Discovery 

vinced that no one ever loved a watch more 
passionately than I loved mine. Admittedly it 
was a litle difficult for Grown-ups to understand, 
but at the time it appealed to us as a worthy and 
necessary test. We were discovered seated on 
the bank above the lawn, throwing our watches 
across the turf, and increasing the distance after 
every round. Even now I recall the thrill with 
which one cast them in the air; the dreadful 
thud with which they dropped among the daisies, 
striking terror to the owner's heart. One of 
Those in Authority intervened, searching ques- 
tions were asked, confiscation even was contem- 
plated. It was not the sort of thing that is easily 
explained, but we confessed the truth at last, 
resentfully and in no expectation of sympathetic 
judgment. We were simply finding out which 
of us could throw his watch furthest without 
stopping it. That was all. We never meant to 
break them. But did we recognize the risk? 
Of course we recognized the risk. The risk was 
the reason, the motive, the heart of the whole 
affair. As well throw turnips if there had been 
no risk. We had to promise not to repeat the 
experiment, and I have always regretted that the 
thing was never fought to a finish. 



The Ordeal 49 

Archie and I went to school at that time — In 
the forenoons only — to a house a mile and a half 
off, down a narrow lane running out into the 
country. An old wall In a state of senile decay 
ran down one side of it, and on the other was a 
hedge with trees here and there, notably a vast 
hollow oak. So that the whole course may be 
said to have been rich in crevices and holes. 
One day Archie with much bravado dropped his 
knife into one of them on the way to school and 
recovered it on his return. From that moment 
the new game had begun — the game of depositing 
a variety of treasures on the outward journey In 
favoured holes and corners, and repossessing our- 
selves of them on our homeward way. The thing 
grew In scope till the whole mile-long route was 
stuffed with hidden treasure visible only to our 
Inward eye. At last we would start out with 
bulging pockets and arrive at our journey's end 
depleted. Profound cunning was called for, as 
it was only when the coast was clear for a moment 
that a deposit could be made or safely withdrawn; 
and during the hours at school one would sit 
tingling with excitement at the thought of all 
one's property thus cast adrift in jeopardy. 
There was a double chance of loss, for not only 



50 Days of Discovery 

might our deposits be found and abstracted, but 
so great and complex did the field of action 
become that one might well forget to retrieve 
some Item in the list. Eagerly we vied with each 
other in pouring out with a lavish hand the 
noblest of our possessions. The thing reached a 
point when one had no longer any pleasure in a 
favourite knife or purse or pocket-book which 
had not passed through the ordeal and braved 
for three mortal hours the curiosity of the passer- 
by. And I shall never forget the proud moment 
of reckless heroism which was mine when I 
plunged my beloved watch into the dead leaves 
in the heart of the hollow tree. But I had to pay 
for It with a long and terrible morning of anxiety 
at school. When the game had lost Its zest and 
grown stale and foolish In our estimation, I was 
condemned to many days of search for a paint- 
box that was dear to me, whose special cranny I 
had forgotten. And It is probable that — if the 
wall be standing still — my paint-box is somewhere 
secreted in it yet. 



VII 

A DINNER PARTY 

Now that one has become a mere participant in 
the well-ordered feast, both the dinner itself 
and the occasion which it represents have lost 
much of their original flavour. The former 
should, of course, to be fully enjoyed, be stolen 
in small quantities from the pantry, and con- 
sumed in a dark, remote spare bedroom; the 
latter should be viewed surreptitiously from an 
ambush. 

I can remember hardly any event which threw 
the nursery Into so high a state of excitement as an 
impending Dinner Party. For this strange func- 
tion, whose real Intention was wrapped in ob- 
scurity, laid a potent spell upon the house, giving 
a wholly new aspect to familiar things, subtly 
affecting the behaviour of familiar persons. From 
,he very moment when the iron handle was brough 
forth from the back of the sideboard, and at its 

51 



^2 Days of Discovery 

magic touch the dining-room table split across 
the centre and expanded Irresistibly along the 
carpet (with a yawning chasm growing by inches 
In Its Interior) and was thereafter fitted with 
^'leaves" to make good the discrepancy — till 
the moment when one had been finally captured 
for bed, and had nothing left to hope for, except 
to try to keep awake to listen for departing 
carriages, the afternoon and evening resolved 
themselves Into one long adventure. 

The development of the dining-room table 
from the humble board at which we had lunched 
Into a glittering prodigy that filled the whole 
room was in itself a thrilling process, rich in 
climax. Its final equipment was so lavish, so far 
beyond the needs of the case, so fantastic and 
unreal that one could but marvel at It as one of 
the most astonishing revelations of the mind of 
the Grown-up. The number of knives and forks 
alone, If one took the trouble to count them, was 
cause for laughter, but the glasses were simply 
bewildering, suggesting as they did a degree of 
excessive and discriminating thirst which one had 
never dreamed of. The only Innovation with 
which one could generously sympathize was the 



A Dinner Party 53 

treatment of the table napkins. In these up- 
standing and contorted forms — each bearing a 
small roll of bread within its snow-white heart — 
one could almost trace the hand of genius. That 
was a feat to be practised with clean pocket- 
handkerchiefs for days to come. 

Of course it was well understood, as it had been 
vigorously laid down, that our sole duty on such 
an occasion as this was to keep out of the way. 
But to obey the Injunction literally was more 
than flesh and blood could be expected to stand. 
It was really very little use trying to get into 
the kitchen — an alluring scene of distracted effort, 
where all manner of miracles were being per- 
formed — but one could always climb down the 
dark little enclosure outside and enjoy the prospect 
from the windows, slowly mastering by observa- 
tion the principal items of the bill of fare. As a 
matter of fact, one was pretty well posted as to 
the progress of the campaign, and If there had 
been any question of the fish arriving late, or 
any doubt at all as to the successful outcome of 
the savoury, the company at nursery tea had dis- 
cussed the crisis with sympathetic Interest. 
Nursery tea was apt to be Inadequate on these 
occasions, but we made no complaint on that 



54 Days of Discovery 

score. Well we know — who better? — the 
strain that had been thrown on the adminis- 
tration. 

The next glorious event of the evening was 
the appearance of Old John Gardener. That 
was one of the finest examples of the faculty of 
the party for turning all things topsy-turvy. For 
John — It was obvious to the meanest Intelligence 
— looked hopelessly out of place In the house, 
though we were all agreed that he was exceed- 
ingly handsome In his black suit. For a long time 
we believed that he was regularly called In when 
the climax arrived as a sort of dictator to take 
over the complete direction of the affair — a posi- 
tion quite admirably In accordance with his 
talents; and It was with something of disappoint- 
ment that we discovered later that his was the 
humbler office of assisting with the carving 
and carrying the heavy dishes up the kitchen 
stairs. 

Before we come to the active period of skirm- 
ishing which filled the evening, I would point 
out that much depended on the waitress of the 
moment. There were several of these In our day, 
but they all fell Into one of two classes; those 
who said they would bring you something after- 



A Dinner Party 55 

wards if you would go away now and be good, 
and those who gave you something at once as 
the price of your going away. 

The Arrival was witnessed, of course, from a 
safe ambush. The favourite spot was the curtain 
at the head of the stairs which commanded the 
hall, but it only accommodated two. Others 
must be content with the top of the long linen- 
press in the lobby or the chink of a half-closed 
door. When each new-comer was safely stowed 
In the drawing-room we could come out and 
compare notes, ready to seek cover again at the 
next ring of the bell. But we were always in 
our places when dinner was announced, lying 
flat upon the upper landing and peering through 
the banisters, enjoying a magnificent view of the 
short procession as It turned Into the dining- 
room. 

After that there was a pause for a while. My 
sister probably detached herself from the main 
party, and stole Into the bedroom behind us with 
a view to examining from a safe distance, and not 
without a certain awe, the cloaks of the visiting 
ladies laid out upon the bed. It seemed silly, but 
girls were like that. In the meantime there was 
not much to be done, for no one Is Interested in 



56 Days of Discovery 

soup, and the occasion was, therefore, a good one 
to go down to the dining-room door and "listen 
to the buzz." There we would stand whispering 
for a time while feverish servitors passed to and 
fro. And certainly there was nothing more 
mysterious or memorable in the whole evening's 
entertainment than this strange penetrating buzz 
of conversation which rose almost to a scream 
whenever the door was opened. That they were 
all talking at once at the top of their voices was, 
of course, obvious, though one could never dis- 
tinguish the words. But what were they talking 
about? And why in the world did they do it? 
This was no ordinary conversation. It was 
clamour. And yet one must suppose they were 
eating all the time. 

After that one would always pay a visit to the 
deserted drawing-room where the fire burned 
brightly and the lights were low. It gave one 
some sort of curious satisfaction to occupy the 
very stage of this fantastic drama, between scenes, 
and to discuss the gay host that would so soon 
return to it. But we must be up and doing, for 
a scout has reported that the joint has already 
descended to the kitchen, and the moment for 
active pillage has arrived. From our base upon 



A Thinner Party 57 

the upper landing a series of raids would then be 
made, and woe to the dish which, having served 
its purpose in the dining-room was left unguarded 
in an empty pantry! One after another we tried 
our luck with varying success, making merry 
picnic with the spoils. As time went on, the 
sport became more and more exciting, for we had 
two forces to contend with. On the one hand 
Old John Gardener, now relieved from his more 
pressing duties, would take it upon himself to 
guard the stairs, and an attack could only be 
made at a moment when he had been called 
away. 

On the other hand, we were already being 
captured ourselves, every one in his turn, for bed, 
and the company diminished fast as one reluctant 
victim after another was borne off to the night 
nursery. There was still, of course, the possibil- 
ity of a daring descent in one's night-shirt, but by 
that time there was an added risk. For at any 
moment the ladles might emerge into the 
hall. 

Even when one had settled down for the night 
there was always a remote chance that an ally 
In the kitchen would send up some final fragment 
of dessert. But it was not likely. One must 



58 Days of Discovery 

resign oneself to listening to the faint strains of 
music from below, and pondering upon the central 
problem which never grew stale — of why they 
did this sort of thing, and If they really had 
enjoyed themselves. 



VIII 

DISCOVERY 

Many of the most vivid and memorable of our 
adventures were the outcome of the burning need 
to Explore. Which of us has not been deeply 
thrilled by the compelling invitation of a closed 
door in a high wall about which the cobwebs 
hang and whose hinges are rusted with long 
disuse? Which of us has been able to contem- 
plate unmoved the discovery of an unknown 
grating in the garden or an unknown trapdoor 
in the roof? 

I had had an astounding glimpse into the 
possibilities of a strange hinterland on a memor- 
able afternoon when I had come upon a plumber 
at work in the storeroom, of all places. He had 
opened a little wooden door in the wall — most 
strange that we had never noticed it! — and by 
the yellow light of his candle, there thrust in, 
had shown up a dusty cavern, reaching away into 
the shadows beyond, where there were pipes and 

59 



6o Days of Discovery 

rafters and a dank, alluring smell. It was no little 
disappointment that he should have locked the 
door when he had finished. But perhaps there were 
other such doors. Yes — it was almost too good 
to be true — but a long, wet half-holiday spent in 
patient search of every possible place of con- 
cealment revealed no less than three. There was 
one high up in the wall of the servants' bedroom, 
a second behind the wardrobe in the spare room, 
and a third — a trapdoor, no less — in the roof of 
the landing. And, when I came to think of it, 
there was a whole basketful of keys in the pantry 
cupboard. One of them was bound to fit. 
Clearly the time had come to gloat upon the 
prospects of the enterprise and lay plans with 
studied deliberation. I could hardly fail to wear 
a look of superior intelligence in my dealings with 
*'the others." They who still regarded a house 
as a thing of rooms and passages, and nothing 
more. Little they knew! 

For, unlike all other nursery enterprises, which 
depended much upon companionship and con- 
certed action, the enterprise of discovery must 
be pursued alone, else would it lose its flavour. 
One would have had no real or lasting joy in it 
had one not been "the first that ever burst" 



Discovery 61 

into an unknown lumber-room or disused coal- 
hole. The Grown-up Persons may have known. 
It was their house; strange if they were not 
fully acquainted with its contents. And yet, on 
reflection, one concluded that they had probably 
got no further than suspecting that such things 
were. It remained for me to make every hole 
and corner of the building my own by pains- 
taking investigation. And then — if one came to 
think of it — what hiding-places ! You could lie 
perdu while the house resounded to the tramp of 
Callers ! You could hear your name shouted in 
every room with absolute security. Decidedly 
much had been added to the glorious possibilities 
of life by my interview with my plumber in the 
storeroom. He knew, but I was not surprised at 
that. I had always considered plumbers to be 
men of extraordinary intelligence. 

As soon as I had wiggled my adventurous way 
through the little door in the servants' bedroom 
and groped on with beating heart till I found I 
could stand upright, as soon as my shaking hands 
had set my candle-end alight, I knew that here 
was all that I had hoped for, and more. I sat 
down to try to realize the great experience. 
Beneath my feet were rafters, running cross- 



62 Days of Discovery 

wise, with grey bulged lines of plaster between 
them, which rather puzzled me. They had such 
an untidy, unfinished appearance. And there 
were props here and there in the roof, which 
sloped up above me; and everywhere were cob- 
webs, dust, and a sour, choking smell. I dare say 
the smell was the best of It. Had the place been 
clean and airy how much it would have lost! 
So I set out across the rafters and came to a great 
cistern, which fizzed and sputtered internally, 
and beyond that I saw a faint suggestive light 
rising from the floor of the cavern. So low was 
the roof at that part that I must creep upon my 
hands and knees. Still I went forward, not 
without delicious thrills of terror, for my line of 
retreat seemed far away by now, until I reached 
a little opening covered with perforated zinc. 
Lying on my face I peered down. With what a 
sudden shock of throbbing delight did I see before 
me, as in a picture, the old familiar nursery! 
There, all unsuspecting, was Lizzie, the under- 
nurse, laying the table for tea. There, with no 
Idea of the tremendous events that were going 
forward above him, was my younger brother 
playing with his soldiers. I could even see ijpon 
the sofa the book that I had flung down, ^ut 



Discovery 63 

half an hour ago — in the old days before I had 
become an explorer. I could feel the hot air 
from the gas rushing up through the opening. I 
could hear the clink of china. It was very strange 
that that should be possible, that I should even 
be able to make out the details of the room — 
with the naked eye. I whistled softly. Archie 
looked up, gazed round the room with a puzzled 
expression, and I chuckled with delight. Here, 
again, were possibilities, not to be immediately 
expended. How I would haunt and baffle them 
all in the days to come ! I pictured to myself an 
occasion at nursery tea when a deep voice from 
the sky would startle and arrest the company. But 
Lizzie kept blowing dust off the table-cloth and 
looking up to see where it came from. It was 
time to beat a retreat. 

The door behind the wardrobe proved very 
disappointing, revealing only a single pipe In a 
small wooden case, and it was many weeks before 
I managed to make my way through the trap- 
door In the landing. That was the greatest 
afternoon of all, as it was also the last. I roamed 
at will In strange low tunnels, untrodden for half 
a century by the foot of man. I found a grimy 
skylight, and when I had rubbed away the cob- 



64 Days of Discovery 

webs from it could see outside the tossing leaves 
of trees. I found myself, in the course of my 
journey, over the dining-room, over the bath- 
room, and over the hall. I climbed down peri- 
lously from one level to another. I saw a rat, 
and fled In abject fear, slipping between the raft- 
ers on to laths that seemed to give for a moment 
beneath my weight; and at the last I lost myself 
completely and sat shivering with my candle, a 
forgotten outcast, wondering If by now the rest 
of them were safe In bed. Then I saw before 
me a narrow opening I had not explored, and 
started out again with fresh hope. It led me to 
the most astounding solution of my difficulty, 
for I came out triumphant, not by the trapdoor, 
but by the old familiar entrance from the 
servants' bedroom. And by the clock which 
I consulted there — It was not yet time for 
tea! 

But there was something astir in the hall below, 
where the whole household was collected. And, 
indeed, a startling phenomenon had come to 
pass. The floor was covered with dust and 
plaster. The china on the cabinet lay in frag- 
ments among the debris, and overhead could be 
seen in the high ceiling a great open scar, not 



Discovery 65 

unlike the map of Australia, where clean, white 
laths were visible. There was no more exploring 
after that, but it was sheer bad luck, as I knew well 
that had brought me to this pass. For it never 
need have happened had it not been for the rat. 



IX 

THE PHASES OF OLINDA 

In the beginning of things Olinda — which was 
the house next door — had been, as it were, a 
sister house to our own. That was one leading 
reason why we regarded her many turns of 
fortune with sympathetic interest. We had, I 
think, a vague, unexplained feeling that had 
things been other than they were we might have 
been living in Olinda. We were so near to that, 
though we had just missed it. But with the years 
the close similarity between the two houses 
passed away. After a while we could no longer 
regard our neighbour as an equal but rather as a 
humble reminder of the state from which we 
ourselves had risen. For Olinda was left behind. 
It is true that she was the first to make a move. 
It was just about that dim, borderland period 
when one ''began to remember" that Olinda 
invested in a new conservatory on the far side 

66 



The Phases of Olinda 67 

of the front door (the building of which I must 
always look back to as the first outstanding event 
of my life, that I can recall as an eye-witness). 
This led to a still more striking innovation in 
the re-shaping of the whole contour of the 
drive. 

We were not long in retaliating, however, with 
powerful effect, in the form of no less than three 
structural alterations in the next few years. 
First came the addition to the drawing-room, 
which actually had the effect of pushing the front 
door round the corner: then followed the new 
nursery wing, which completely shifted the centre 
of gravity of the house, as it were : and finally 
the new spare room, culminating in the Tower, 
from which we could look down over the 
intervening trees upon our dwarfed com- 
petitor. 

But events out of doors, which followed at a 
later stage, were still more startling and dramatic. 
For there we not only outgrew Olinda, but 
prospered at her expense. Circumstances so fell 
out that we began to annex our neighbour's 
garden. After the early, prosperous days of the 
Girl's School, as she was slowly sagging downward 



68 Days of Discovery 

in the social scale to the point when her drive 
was untended and her conservatory was bare, 
bit by bit her crumbling territory fell into our 
hands. First the boundary was thrust back so as 
to absorb the walk and the two walnut trees. 
Then one summer our lawn enjoyed a prodigious 
expansion, devouring the space almost up to 
her very windows. And then (and this was the 
most astounding move of all) our kitchen garden 
leapt over, so to speak, to the farther side of her 
diminished lawn, a connecting walk was made at 
the foot; and thus Olinda was completely in- 
vested, encircled, and became, rightly regarded, 
no more than a bite, walled off and reserved out 
of our own domain. 

In its earliest stage, Olinda's chief use in our 
eyes was as a happy hunting ground for exploring 
parties. It was simply a question of getting as far 
as you could without being seen. There were 
admirable shrubberies on both sides — there was 
a clump of bushes almost opposite the drawing- 
room windows — there was a high wall to surmount 
at the very outset, and as the gardener was a 
man of short and choleric temper (but no great 
runner) It might be said that all the necessary 



The Phases of Olinda 69 

conditions were forthcoming. By a succession of 
stealthy and cautious expeditions we had soon 
covered the greater part of the garden and laid 
bare its secrets. Once under shield of darkness a 
scout had even reached the stable yard, and 
reported a trough of a pattern hitherto unknown 
to us and a pig-sty — and that was a thing no one 
would have suspected. On another occasion our 
advance guard was taken red-handed at the end 
of the kitchen garden by the lady of the house, 
who, to his intense annoyance, received him with 
perfect kindness and good-will and offered him 
gooseberries. Had she been thoroughly angry 
some credit might have been got out of the 
encounter, but as it was the taste for exploring 
suffered a set-back. 

Then came a sudden change and the great day 
of the Sale, when we could roam about the 
grounds at will (though we were not allowed to 
go Inside the house among the throng that fol- 
lowed the auctioneer) and set our minds at rest 
about the pig-sty and the trough. 

And after that — The Girl's School. It cannot 
be said that that period, which covered several 
years, was productive of much Interest or curiosity 
on our part. It was In accord with our outlook 



70 Days of Discovery 

at that stage to regard a girl's school as a very 
monument of futility. We should have said, if 
questioned on the point, with bitter scorn that 
we should have to be pretty hard up before we 
began to take an Interest in girls' schools. Clearly 
it was the manlier course to ignore it altogether, 
but there was no more effective method of re- 
proving one's younger sister than to threaten her 
with Olinda when she grew up. And yet there 
were some few occasions when we broke through 
this fine indifference. When pea shooters hap- 
pened to be particularly in vogue, or perhaps at 
the snow-balling season, certain passages did occur 
between us. And when they were playing tennis, 
it was almost Impossible to ignore our neighbours. 
It became the custom for us to look on from the 
seclusion of the Ivy at the top of the wall and tell 
each other that It really was too funny. And 
once an adventurous pupil actually "had the 
cheek" to scale the wall from the far side and 
make her way Into our summer-house ! That 
was an amazing discovery and we were completely 
at a loss what to make of it. We held no dealings 
with her at all and after an earnest and prolonged 
council of war it was decided that It would be 
best to hush the thing up and say nothing about 



The Phases of Olinda 71 

It to anyone. We were very thankful that it 
never happened again, for to tell the truth it was 
just the sort of thing that one didn't quite know 
how to take. 

I have never known what was the outcome of 
that school — whether it had prospered so greatly 
as to move on to higher spheres, or declined to an 
ultimate collapse. But as far as we were con- 
cerned It came to an end. And Olinda stood 
empty. 

As the months ran on what was left of the gar- 
den — for It had been heavily shorn by this time — 
became for us a strange and eerie retreat, where 
we could find that absolute seclusion which was 
always dear to us. It was surrounded now by a 
close wooden fence, so that no peering eye could 
penetrate within. The weeds came out like a 
rash upon the drive and garden walks, the grass 
grew high and coarse on the borders, the ivy 
wandered far. A sparrow nested in the porch, 
and a company of mole-hills occupied what re- 
mained of the lawn. One would spring nimbly 
over the fence and stand enthralled, drinking in 
that perfect desolation. ' Then came the day when, 
greatly daring, we pryed open the kitchen window 



72 Days of Discovery 

and plunged Into the dank recesses of the house 
itself. 

Timorously we penetrated one by one the 
shuttered rooms, sweeping black dust off the 
mantel-pieces and tearing down great strips of 
flapping wallpaper: turning on taps that would 
not run and (splendid moment!) ringing bells 
that resounded startllngly through the waste of 
emptiness. We learned much that day of the 
Infinite variety that exists In the ordering of 
human affairs; of the unsuspected possibilities 
that lurk In the most straightforward concerns. 
For we were staggered by the discovery that what 
should have been the "old night nursery" was 
in fact the drawing-room: that positively a 
billiard-table had occupied what should have 
been the laundry. That opened our eyes. And, 
furthermore, there was no sign at all of a linen- 
press where it should have stood upon the upper 
landing. 

I do not care to dwell on the last phase, when 
Olinda became a working-man's club, tottering 
to bankruptcy. 

When last I saw Olinda the roof was gone and 
already a part of the upper story had been pulled 
down. But I had little room in my heart for 



The Phases of Olinda 73 

sentimental regrets. For a far greater tragedy 
was in train next door, where her proud neighbour 
(which concerned me much more closely) was 
being still more rapidly demolished. 



X 

THE FIREWORK SEASON 

The actual blaze of glory on the night of Novem- 
ber Fifth, while it formed a memorable and wholly 
adequate climax to the campaign, did not by 
any means represent all the joys of the firework 
season. The fun began weeks before, on the very 
day when eager watchers could report the first 
appearance in shop windows of these splendid 
wares. Then was there held forthwith a solemn 
conclave, in which financial resources were care- 
fully assessed. The amount in hand was always 
disappointing, but one gladly reckoned in, on a 
generous and extravagant computation, such sums 
from various quarters as might be expected to 
fall due before the day. It was largely a matter 
of chance — so small was one's regular income in 
the face of great emergencies like this. If a 
"likely uncle," for instance, put off his pro- 
jected visit till later in the month, the whole 
scale of prospective investments had to be re- 

74 



The Firework Season 7^ 

luctantly revised. But when sufficient funds 
could not be earned by any of the recognised 
emergency methods — by walking instead of taking 
the tram, by learning poetry or by copying out 
the washing list — there was always a chance that 
a unanimous and influential petition might loose 
the purse-strings of those remote and unattain- 
able Money-boxes which stood aloof, hoarding 
their dead capital, on the top shelf of the library 
cabinet. In one year of distressing penury that I 
remember a special subsidy of no less than two 
shillings a head was granted, but in set terms that 
Implied no liability in years to come. 

It must not be supposed that money was saved 
up until the approach of the great day; that 
would have been to lose half the delight of the 
firework season. At the first possible moment 
buying began. Indeed I have no doubt at all 
that it would have begun in July had oppor- 
tunity offered. For the whole of those weeks 
one's wealth was being instantly converted into 
terms of fireworks — one was steadily accumulat- 
ing stock. For that most glorious Instrument 
the firework Is but little understood by those who 
look only at its capabilities in the moment of 
explosion. There is much more to be got out of 



76 I Days of Discovery 

It than that. It is not only to be let off; it is to 
be handled, bartered and exchanged, lovingly con- 
templated. It is to be for several weeks the first 
thought in the morning and the last thought at 
night. The very feel of it is almost worth the 
money, and it becomes more dear as time goes 
on, by reason of continued self-denial. For every 
moment of its existence it presents a strong 
temptation to Its owner, and by resisting It one 
comes to love It more. In truth there is almost 
an element of sadness In the moment of Its 
realization. Even though it may fulfil one's 
highest hopes with a bang more loud or a flare 
more gorgeous than one had looked for, one 
cannot quite forget that It Is Its death struggle, 
its swan song. One cannot look upon Its warm, 
blackened, empty remains without a poignant 
moment of regret. It had been so good a fire- 
work m Its day! 

I do not know who it was that Invented the 
great system of trading In fireworks by exchange 
and barter. But every evening early In November 
the schoolroom after tea became an active mart, 
when everyone set out his box In Its appointed 
place on the long table and worked to adjust the 
balance between the different items of his stock 



The Firework Season 77 

by trading with his neighbour. It was very In- 
structive, after several active sessions, to assess 
the value of what remained — In cash — and see 
how one had fared in these transactions. But 
when money was all exhausted and there was no 
longer a prospect of being flooded with new 
supplies all manner of fictitious values would be 
in vogue. One bold buyer perhaps has cornered 
the supply of Blue Devils without which no 
assortment was complete. I have even known a 
penny Starlight, when that grade was In special 
demand, go for three halfpenny Golden Rains, 
with half a dozen Chinese Crackers thrown In. 

I have a vivid recollection of the personality of 
each separate squib In all that multiform array. 
I was not a great admirer of Blue Devils, though 
one must, of course, show one's skill In throwing 
them at the right moment so that they burst in 
the air; and it always seemed to me that Golden 
Rain (though much prized by some) was rather a 
weak-kneed and effeminate performer. But Star- 
light and Portfires were noble, and I always had a 
sort of lurking affection (not shared by my com- 
petitors) for that strange mongrel, the Flowerpot. 
Pin Wheels were of little use, unless one adopted 
the Ingenious method of unwrapping them and 



78 Days of Discovery 

straightening them out. Ripraps were often dis- 
appointing in action — but how splendid in their 
shape and form! Even Chinese Crackers were 
not to be despised, for there was a way of pinch- 
ing them by which (if you were adroit) you could 
let them explode in your hand — to the admiration 
of younger brothers — and suffer nothing. As to 
Prince of Wales's Feathers, I can only say that In 
my opinion any denomination of this variety 
below the penny is unsatisfactory. If you don't 
keep shaking the powder down It stutters. 

And so the great day came, and after a last 
excited session the market ceased its operations. 
Then followed the bonfire in the kitchen garden 
and Guy Fawkes. And then on the dark lawn 
before the house, where the stepladder and the 
rocket-stake and the great flowerpot were already 
assembled, the proper rites began. One could 
look up with a depth of sympathy to the assem- 
bled faces at the upstairs window of those who 
had been deemed too young, too frail to take an 
active part. And for one hour one ran wild In 
fairyland, mid ravishing delights of eye and nose 
and ear. For I doubt If there be anything much 
better about a firework than the smell of It in 
action. There followed the dressing of wounds, 



The Firework Season 79 

for probably none of us came off unscathed; and 
in the morning that sad fascinating hour when one 
explored in detail every portion of the battlefield, 
seeking relics. Here was where the first rocket 
fell (for I heard the stick among the trees) . Here 
was all that was left of my fourpenny Riprap, 
blown out and rent and blackened. And here 
among the bushes was the battered corpse of 
Jack-in-the-Box himself, 



XI 

SECRETS 

Secrets — that is to say, admitted secrets, which 
were whispered, treasured, and shared in holes 
and corners — were, of course, rather an affair for 
girls, and therefore held in fine contempt by the 
male section of the nursery. None the less, we 
were ourselves base enough, while maintaining 
this outward attitude, to borrow the idea in all 
its substance save the name. There were a few 
cases of rare harmony when a secret was shared 
by the whole company, though always with some 
unworthy suspicion that one's little sister would 
sooner or later give it away. To this order be- 
longed the splendid experiences connected with 
tips from benevolent relatives. For while a grand- 
mother or an aunt would seldom make any 
restrictions or conditions, an uncle was quite 
certain to accompany the contribution with a 
direct injunction to keep it dark. Not that that 
was necessary, as we should undoubtedly have 

80 



Secrets 8i 

kept It dark in any case, for fear this sudden 
wealth should be impounded. But even had 
there been no possibility of interference much of 
the zest would have gone out of the traffic in 
tips had it not been conducted surreptitiously by 
both parties. One would have lost that intense 
excitement with which one came to regard the 
departing guest. As It was, there were even 
moments on the doorstep when it was obvious 
to our expert intelligence that he was looking 
round with some embarrassment for opportunity 
and we must come to his aid, perhaps by following 
him into the cab at the last moment with a for- 
gotten razor strop — retained for the purpose — 
or by sending one of our number to see him off at 
the station. 

The keeping of a secret entailed an exceedingly 
complex line of conduct. It must be accom- 
panied by a series of hints (not overdone by any 
means — that was where the younger members 
came to grief), by vague allusions, by an expres- 
sion of mysterious superiority, by daring challenges 
of open defiance, while those who were outside — 
what one might call the attacking party — passed 
through stages of sublime Indifference (a very 
safe card, could one but have kept It up), of con- 



82 Days of Discovery 

clliatlon and appeal, and of outraged hostility, 
threatening reprisals. The value of a secret did 
not consist at all in its intrinsic importance, for 
whatever that might have been It was certain, 
when finally exploded, to be contemptuously dis- 
missed with the chilly query, "Is that all?" It 
consisted entirely In the handling of it, the skill 
with which it was kept in the foreground, the 
length of Its course and, above all, in retaining 
it In as few hands as possible. For Its power 
became slowly dissipated as one after another 
learned the truth. It was never considered 
sporting to leave a single member out In the cold, 
which seems to show that even in this heartless 
warfare there were some elements of mercy. 

For It was warfare pure and simple. When 
you had been restrained from settling a dispute 
by assault and battery, and the desire to score off 
your adversary called for some other means, no 
handler or more effective weapon than the secret 
could have been desired. You could not at the 
moment punch his head, but you could always 
arouse his curiosity, work upon his Inqulsltlveness, 
and by taking In an ally (who would express the 
most profound Interest In your communication) 
make him feel before the day was out that until 



Secrets 83 

he knew where It was that you had been that 
afternoon (when you came in so cautiously by 
the stable door) life was not worth living. Simply 
anything would do provided it was properly 
handled. If a familiar picture had disappeared 
from the nursery wall, and he was given to under- 
stand that you could explain its removal if you 
would; If he had overheard you shouting down 
to someone below from the bathroom window and 
you had closed it and turned away when he came 
In; If you took to carrying with you wherever 
you went a small brown paper parcel of alluring 
shape, refusing to vouchsafe a reason — It was 
enough; you had your revenge. Of course, you 
must take certain risks In pursuit of this high end. 
If he found out, you knew yourself to be routed, 
disgraced, reduced to a laughing-stock, while he 
would triumph gloatingly; 

However, there were reprisals. The recog- 
nized retort when a secret was In active operation 
against one was to start a secret of one's own. 
This was uphill work. For it was always tacitly 
assumed that a secret was accidental In Its origin, 
and here the mechanism was a little too obvious. 
And thus the counter-secret, If I may so call It, 
was certain to be met at the outset with scorn, as 



84 Days of Discovery 

having been invented by you ''because you 
couldn't find out about mine" — which, of course, 
It was. Still, if it was a good secret in itself it 
would begin to bite after a time. Even if I had 
no burning desire to solve it (which I probably 
had) I could not but admit that it had begun to 
sap the strength of my own effort. And so the 
situation would frequently ripen into an armistice 
and an exchange. And then it only remained for 
each competitor to greet with withering scorn 
the revelation of the other, and to declare that 
If he had known that yours was as rotten as that 
he would never have divulged his own. And there 
the incident would close. 

The other method by which secrets would 
come to an end — for they were never of long 
duration — was by the process of gradual dilution. 
There was no secret as strong as that which was 
held by one alone, provided that it was skilfully 
worked. The greatest success of my life in this 
regard was an occasion when for two whole days 
I defied the attack of a united host on the question 
as to why it was that Uncle John had called me 
downstairs in the middle of nursery tea — me 
alone — to speak to him in the library. I saw at a 
glance the exceptional value of this incident as a 



Secrets 85 

secret, and I held to It grimly for two whole days, 
during which I wielded real power. But they 
were lonely days. On the third afternoon I 
could stand it no longer, and I took a partner 
into the concern. It was worth a good deal 
even after that, but when — to gain a definite 
ulterior end — I had taken in a third the game 
was already up. 

Then it had become common property (to the 
intense disappointment of the whole assembly) 
that Uncle John had not wished to ask me to 
stay with him in Ireland In the summer holidays 
(as had been feared), nor to suggest that he 
should subscribe to the fund for a new football 
(as had been hoped), nor yet to Inform me of a 
proposed legacy (my sister's solution). He had 
only wanted to know if I happened to have 
picked up his pipe on the tennis lawn. 



XII 

VARIATIONS ON A THEME 

There Is a story told of one of our company in 
the nursery that on an occasion when he was at 
a tea-party he took aside a chosen ally into a safe 
corner remote from the festivities to impart to 
him a sacred confidence. With every appearance 
of mystery and a full regard to the weight of his 
disclosure he bound his companion to secrecy, 
and the great intelligence broke from him in a 
dramatic whisper. "I'm an author!" he said. 
And I have every reason to believe that the 
other was very much impressed. 

But the author in question was not by any 
means the only one. That was a summer of 
extraordinary literary activity. The telling of 
stories in one form or another had, of course, 
flourished from the very beginning of things. 
There was a time when Archie, who had a wonder 
ful faculty for fluent and meaningless romance, 
and an amazing ability for reproducing startling 

86 



Variations on a Theme 87 

words and phrases, used to regale my sister, 
behind the curtains, with his perennial serial, 
"The Adventures of a Lion." My sister was 
enormously impressed by this narrative, as, 
indeed, were we all in some degree, though we 
would never have confessed it. She filled in the 
frequent pauses with interjected murmurs of 
gurgling admiration, and the effect partook of 
the nature of a duet. Whenever we stopped to 
listen we would hear something like the follow- 
ing: — 

''And so the Lion swallowed him up, every 
bit . . ." 

"Oo!" 

*'But he had a pair of scissors in his pocket. . ." 

"Ooo!" 

*'And he cut a hole and got out . . ." 

"Ooooo!" 

"And then there came an Albatross ..." 

"Ooo! Oooo!" 

But it was not until the advent of the school 
story that we became absorbed in the splendid 
possibilities of fiction. It was then that the 
second great serial started on its long career. 
This time I was myself the victim, the recipient; 
and the teller was Colin, my next older brother. 



88 Days of Discovery 

It was a profound secret between us two, and for 
many months nearly all the spare time that we 
spent together was devoted to it. I cannot 
remember that it had any name, but it dealt 
almost exclusively with the adventures of one 
Eastham, a schoolboy. I fear that most of the 
details of this romance are now lost to me, but 
I seem to remember that while the hero passed 
through a long series of exciting situations these 
were remarkably narrow in their scope, being 
confined indeed to two classes only — cricket 
matches, of which there was at least one in every 
instalment, and dark dealings with bookmakers 
*'in the town." So deeply engrossed did I 
become and so urgent were my demands for more 
that the teller of the tale began to put on airs. 
Eastham was no longer dealt out with lavish hand 
and on every suitable opportunity; he became 
by degrees an occasional favour, then a special, 
rare concession. And his author found that he 
had established — that which we were always on 
the look-out for in all our dealings — a hold over 
me. He would threaten to tell me no more 
unless I became his willing slave, and I abjectly 
consented, for I could not live at all without 
my Eastham. The thing became a flagrant 



Variations on a Theme 89 

tyranny, for when Colin found he could not 
convey his demands to me In the presence of 
other people he laid down a certain signal be- 
tween us that should mean "If you don't do it 
at once there will be no more of Eastham." He 
had but to raise the first and third fingers of his 
hand, while holding down the middle one, and I 
knew my fate, and carried out his behest forth- 
with. Well do I remember those two dread 
fingers with their crushing message. I knew my- 
self to be helpless before them, until at last there 
came a day when I rebelled. He had left his cap 
in the stable and I must go and fetch it. I 
refused. Up went the two fingers. It came 
home to me that I was paying too great a price 
even for Eastham, and I would not go. And 
then I made the surprising discovery which showed 
me that had I had more spirit I need never have 
borne the yoke. For Eastham still went on — 
that very evening he made 93 not out against 
All England. Then I saw that Eastham was quite 
as necessary to Colin as he was to me. The tables 
were turned. It was I who could now afford to 
be an indifferent listener — to all appearance. At 
the last I could dictate the occasions when I 
would consent to listen. It might even have 



90 Days of Discovery 

reached a point where it was I who could signal 
(with upheld fingers) my commands. But East- 
ham underwent a sudden change. 

The telling of tales as an occupation was super- 
seded by a new and more splendid achievement 
— that of writing them. It was my sister who 
quite unwittingly set the new fashion. She an- 
nounced her intention of copying out the whole 
of the "Mill on the Floss," and could already 
show the first few sentences laboriously trans- 
cribed in enormous, staggering print. Well do I 
remember her joy when some facetious Grown- 
up offered her five shillings for each completed 
chapter. But although she never reached the 
bottom of the page she had suggested a far 
more glorious undertaking — original composition. 
Within a week there was not one of us but had 
his small black book In active operation. They 
were, of course, all school stories, and they all 
dealt In Eastham, or at least he figured In all of 
them. His original author really could not 
make up his mind whether to regard this universal 
plagiarism in the light of flattery or to be in- 
dignant that the rest of us had "bagged" his 
hero. In most cases the stories were written, 
but mine was printed, for the obvious reason that 



Variations on a Theme 91 

It was much more like a real book. I got on more 
slowly than the others on that account, and I 
sometimes doubt If, after all, It was much more 
like a real book. But It was a great time. 

Those In Authority look back upon that period 
of feverish activity (for we did not like to fall 
short of an output of a chapter a day) as on a 
sunny oasis In the endless struggle of our up- 
bringing. We were all so "good," so consistently 
*'out of mischief," though a price must be paid 
for this Immunity In the Increased vigour of the 
contest that took place at the time when we must 
go to bed. The real difficulty was, where all 
with the exception of my sister were so actively 
creating, to command an audience for one's work. 
But the rule was generally accepted that If you 
would listen to my chapter I would listen to 
yours. I cannot bu': believe that the work would 
have gained something In originality had it been 
possible to get on without this Interchange of 
ideas. For as It was, the same incidents, in a more 
or less garbled form but without any attempt to 
veil their identity, occurred with perfect regularity 
In all four works. When Eastham tripped up 
the policeman, as recorded by myself, the three 
other writers' chapters of the following day would 



92 Days of Discovery 

find their inspiration In that episode, and when — 
as recorded by my eldest brother — he caught his 
friend Leach stealing money from the coats at 
the cricket field the rest of us could hardly wait 
till the chapter was concluded before seizing 
book and pencil to catch that fine impression ere 
it fled. 

The volumes are no longer in existence. No 
doubt as soon as some new interest had taken their 
place they were treated with a contempt which I 
cannot quite believe that they deserved. And I 
have but the vaguest memories of the results of 
all that keen endeavour. But at least I can recall 
the opening words of my first chapter, which 
would seem to show that, despite one's deep pre- 
occupation with the game of cricket, one had not 
quite grasped all the complexity of its technique : 

*'Eastham was a very good bat. He could 
make 79 runs. Leach could only run 23 runs. 
Thomson could make 38, and Milton about 16." 



XIII 

MAKING MONEY 

The financial resources of the Nursery were 
sharply divided into two classes. We all possessed 
two sorts of money — that which was readily 
negotiated and that which was sternly withheld. 
We suffered from a disability (which is apt to 
pursue one even in later life) in having our funds 
*'tied up," so that we could by no means lay our 
hands on them. This was chiefly brought about 
by the hated institution of Money-boxes. There 
they were in a row on the top shelf of the library, 
handsomely fashioned in artistic forms, after the 
style of castles, -ships, cricket-balls — mine was 
like a small portmanteau, clasped at the corners 
with brass. But one feature they all had in 
common — a slot In the lid shaped with such 
unholy Ingenuity that no amount of patient 
shaking upside down could possibly recover the 
deposit. I do not say that they were never un- 
locked. On the approach of a birthday or at 

93 



94 Days of Discovery 

Christmas time and on certain outstanding occa- 
sions it was possible to draw upon them. But 
that meant an appeal to Those in Authority, the 
stating of a case, all manner of formality before 
the key would be brought forth. You could not 
dip into them at will at any moment when you 
wanted to buy things. No matter what hoarded 
riches they might contain — and they had been 
known to run up to two or three pounds ! — they 
gave one no sense whatever of possession, and one 
would gladly at any time have sold the whole, 
had it been permissible, for a free half-crown. 

The sources of supply, by which these exasper- 
ating institutions were fed, were various. It had 
been intended in the beginning that they should 
be supported by contributions under two head- 
ings, the compulsory and the voluntary. If we 
ever wished to put in any money in addition to 
that which was prescribed, we should be heartily 
encouraged to do so. But the voluntary clauses 
of the act broke down completely, and the com- 
pulsory clauses were only enforced under the 
most violent protest. Windfalls of all sorts were 
apt to be impounded whenever they reached too 
high a figure. It was no use at all to get a birth- 
day present of half a sovereign, for that was sure 



Making Money 95 

to go. And the whole traffic In tips from benevo- 
lent uncles was given an added zest and interest 
from the fact that the shadow of the Money-box 
hung over It and It must be handled with the 
utmost care and secrecy. 

But when we thought or spoke of money we 
never meant what was referred to with a fine 
contempt as "Money-box money." It was the 
real thing that we meant, which came and went 
by methods under our direct control. As a matter 
of fact the Interest In money, like other nursery 
Interests, fluctuated wildly. For wrecks one would 
be cheerfully bankrupt and entirely wrapped up 
in less mercenary affairs, forgetting even to ob- 
serve when the first day of the month came round. 
At other times by every plot and plan, by every 
effort of concentrated Ingenuity would one strive 
to attain a decent competence. This was nearly 
always brought about by some special call. It 
was no use going out of one's way to amass wealth 
without a definite object to which to devote It. 
But let us suppose one had seen a truly gorgeous 
steam-engine that would go In a shop, or a new 
sort of telescope that pulled out to five times Its 
normal length Instead of three; then a deter- 
mined effort must be made. And there was that 



96 Days of Discovery 

advertisement of a real printing press in The 
Boy^s Own Paper. And that complete Magic 
Lantern that could be worked with a night-light 
— and talking of lanterns what about Bull's-eye 
lanterns? Thus on ocassion the possibilities of 
this glorious world would present themselves, 
tumbling over one another in a sort of mental 
cataract, and in a moment one was awake to the 
instant need of money — heaps of money. 

The official pocket-money was only regarded 
as a sort of minimum wage. It was no use saving 
it. That system had been given a fair trial on 
mOre than one occasion and abandoned in disgust. 
It called for an enormous amount of self- 
denial with a miserably inadequate return. No 
one would dream of depending upon pocket- 
money for any of the larger ends of life. But 
there were tips which sometimes came oppor- 
tunely and there were a dozen other sources of 
supply. The most obvious of these was to walk 
and save the penny for your tram fare; and if 
Old John Gardener was in charge of you, you 
could make him walk and save his penny too. 
And there were a good many promiscuous odd 
jobs by which one's income could be increased 
in one's spare time, in the words of the popular 



Making Money 97 

advertisements. Twopence was the usual tariff 
for copying the washing list, and sometimes there 
were envelopes to address or newspaper wrappers, 
which paid pretty well. But that was close and 
wearing work and one ran the risk of having the 
whole batch rejected on some miserable plea of 
spelling or handwriting. 

Far more profitable was the learning of poetry 
which was really paid for, as far as I can remem- 
ber, at a fairly liberal rate. Any way I got half a 
crown for the Pied Piper. I know very well that 
I am quite Incapable of such a feat now (even for 
twice the money) but I remember almost every 
word of It to this day. A good many uncles and 
aunts were Involved In this poetry business, and 
It would have been lucrative had one been able to 
develop the practice of disposing of the same 
wares In more than one market. But when I was 
discovered selling Tennyson's Revenge for the 
third time In one week this method of expansion 
was put a stop to. Still some tidy sums were 
accumulated In this way, and at last the steam- 
engine was made possible. 

As I look back upon all that period of stern 
endeavour and dogged labour towards a given 
end, one occasion stands out luridly — one bright 



98 Days of Discovery 

occasion when I "got rich quick.'' It was all 
very wrong, of course. He was a boy who came 
with some callers and I know now that he must 
have been both astoundlngly wicked and amaz- 
ingly rich. For he took me away to the shrubbery 
behind the stable and tossed me for sixpences. 
It so happened that the summons came for his 
return — the carriage was waiting — when, after a 
fine run of luck I was four and sixpence up, so I 
came very well out of that adventure. But he 
didn't care. It was all the same to him! He 
was indeed a tremendous fellow. 

And then there was the great Dandelion Cam- 
paign. It was I myself who thought of that. I 
had so often heard complaints of the state of the 
lawn, and I volunteered to uproot the dandelions, 
at, I think, threepence a hundred. Within a few 
days every juvenile member of the household, 
each armed with an out-worn table-knife, was at 
work upon his hands and knees, crawling hither 
and thither, prodding and levering up the spoil. 
And in the evenings the harvest was counted and 
paid for, and knives were sharpened against the 
morrow. Had we but been content with the 
conditions a steady income for the summer might 
have been assured. For after the stock ran out 



Making Money 99 

were there not plantains and daisies? But we 
became too skilful. Sidney contrived to invent 
a new tool, with a long handle and two sharp 
prongs, which traversed the lawn with devastating 
effect, and when after a busy undisturbed half- 
holiday we marched in, in force, soil-stained and 
weary, our weapon over our shoulders and our 
booty in a sack and demanded Twelve Shillings 
and Sevenpence at a single scoop it was at once 
declared that the thing had got completely out 
of hand. 



XIV 

THE HOTEL 

When I observe the blase children of globe- 
trotting parents, complacently sauntering in to 
table d'hote, giving orders unabashed to waiters, 
lolling nonchalantly in the lounge, entering large, 
silent public rooms without a tremor, sometimes 
a wave of pity passes over me that they should 
so soon have come to this — and never know their 
loss. They are simply suffering prematurely 
from the wretched disillusionment of the Grown- 
up. They have bartered In exchange for a swag- 
gering indifference one of the most splendid 
experiences of childhood. They have lost all 
appreciation of the supreme adventure of staying 
In an Hotel. 

Adventure was the first aim and end of those 
golden years. To let no one day be like another, 
to pack one's life as full as possible of thrilling 
experience, to break out In a new place whenever 
possible, was the sum of one's persistent and 

100 



The Hotel loi 

conscientious endeavour. And adventure might 
be arrived at in a great variety of ways — by open 
rebellion, by exploring all manner of hidden 
mysteries, by joyously accepting and making the 
most of all sorts of abnormal conditions and unex- 
pected situations that might befall. But it 
might also be attained without any collision 
whatever with the forces of law and order. For 
there were times when Those In Authority, 
entering fully Into the spirit of the thing, would 
"take us away," for what they called a "treat," 
— a word which we strongly resented. Sometimes 
even the suggestion would come from one of 
ourselves. Was not I myself the true author of 
that tremendous expedition when we invaded 
the Isle of Man In a body? But it would never 
have occurred to any one of us to suggest the 
mighty and epoch-making event that I have now 
to describe. That was something altogether too 
dazzling and remote; and when the tremendous 
truth, which had already been dimly suggested 
by sundry hints and veiled Innuendoes — after the 
accepted style of Grown-ups — ^burst In a moment 
upon us we were positively staggered. It was 
Archie who broke into the nursery one evening, 
panting and flushed. "I've found It out!" 



I02 Days of Discovery 

he shouted. "We're going to stay in an 
Hotel!" 

After the first pandemonium of excitement had 
subsided, we settled down to discuss and solve 
to the best of our ability, a question that can 
hardly be said to have been impertinent. What, 
exactly, was an Hotel? We had seen the outside 
of them: we had speculated idly upon their 
interiors : and we knew very well that they were 
much frequented by certain Grown-ups, who had 
no fixed place of abode. But we knew no more 
of what to expect when one had passed beyond 
their portals than if they had been an enchanted 
garden. And then the details of the scheme came 
out. We were to drive, it seemed, all of us, in 
the big wagonette, with Tom Coachman and 
the horses. The distance was not less than twenty 
miles. We were to come back the following day; 
and If It turned out to be a wet afternoon the 
expedition would have to be put off. As if that 
mattered! That was just the way with Grown- 
ups. They had no sense of proportion. They 
never understood what were the vital elements 
in an adventure. Had the distance been a 
hundred miles through heavy sleet, what could it 
matter with the prospect of an Hotel at the end? 



The Hotel 103 

As it turned out rain began to fall before we 
had got half-way. Then we were all thrown into 
an agony of suspense. The desirability of turning 
back was calmly debated while we squirmed in 
silent terror lest the cup be dashed from our 
lips. We were told, in the most matter-of-fact 
way, that if we had to give it up it was only a 
question of postponing it for a week. There 
was no grain of comfort in that. It was alto- 
gether beyond our power to peer into an uncer- 
tain future as far as next week. If we turned 
back all was over. Life was desolated. How could 
we, how could we dream of going back now — to 
the same old house and garden, to the same old 
nursery tea, to that intolerably humdrum life 
that Is lived outside hotels? . . . And then Tom 
Coachman's hat blew off, and we must stop and 
I must get out and pick It up. That decided It. 
I have never clearly known why. And on looking 
back I cannot see how Tom's hat can possibly 
have affected the issue. And yet we all firmly 
believed that that incident was the turning point. 
Long after we would refer to it as a happy chance 
that had saved us in a critical moment. We 
elevated it Into the outstanding episode of the 
day. Years after we would recall it to one 



I04 Days of Discovery 

another in grateful memory. . . . "Lucky old 
Tom's hat blew off, wasn't It?" 

Anyhow we went on, and the sun was shining 
brightly within the hour, which of course proved 
that we were right. 

While I remember all about Tom's hat, his 
convulsive clutch at it as it flew, the exact spot 
on the left side of the road where I picked it out 
of a gorse bush, the side of the carriage from 
which I handed it up to him, I must now confess 
that I have but the haziest and most unsatisfactory 
recollection of what happened in the hotel. I 
suppose that it was all so splendid and over- 
whelming, that one was in such an exalted and 
intense state of mind that it passed as if it had 
been a dream. I know that we occupied two 
adjoining bedrooms, and that Those in Authority 
were some distance up the passage — which was an 
admirable arrangement. And I can vouch for the 
fact that we put our boots outside the door at 
night, and that one of us in the morning dis- 
covered the number of the room chalked upon 
the soles of them: and it may be added, that for 
several weeks to come all the boots at home were 
similarly treated every morning by Archie, who 
had a love of effective detail. I know that we 



The Hotel 105 

locked our doors and carried away the keys when 
we went down to dinner. (Tremendous places, 
these hotels ! You never knew what sort of 
blackguards might be about.) And when we 
came to compare notes at night I had counted 
six bathrooms and Archie had only found four. 
But then Archie had found the smoking-room, 
though he had not dared to go in. But I am quite 
at a loss as to what we did, how we spent the 
evening, or what occurred on the following 
morning. The scene at dinner alone remains 
clear-cut in my memory. Quaking we entered 
that astounding apartment where, as it seemed, 
some thousands of people were all eating together. 
Many of the handsomest and most effectively 
dressed of them were, it is true, handing round 
the food, and one magnificent fellow was carving 
at a side table. One could hardly take one's eyes 
off him. But that was not all. The magic of the 
hotel had Invaded the meal itself. In the long, 
bewildering succession of dishes (which had a 
printed programme of their own) we were quite 
unable to distinguish our two old friends — the 
dual ingredients of every normal dinner — Meat 
and Pudding. And there was a waiter who bent 
down respectfully and asked you fascinating con- 



io6 Days of Discovery 

undrums in some way relating to the food. The 
first of these — and for my part I gave it up — 
was "Thick or Clear?" And he called you 
''Sir" . . . 

At last we were In bed, with no intention 
whatever of frittering away historic hours in 
sleep. And there was a cathedral clock that 
chimed the quarters. And about the hour of 
I a.m. we met with a rude shock In the shape 
of a man, who was not content with knocking 
at the door — not that we would have heard him 
easily — but actually put his head Into the room 
and told us bluntly that we must make less noise 
as half the guests in the passage had complained 
to him. Archie thought he was the Manager, 
but I was not at all sure. Still there can be no 
doubt that he was some pretty Important person 
or he would never have spoken to us In that way. 
Had It been a waiter we were sure he would 
have said "Sir." And after that there was really 
nothing for It but to go to sleep. But my habit 
of bolting my bedroom door In hotels when I 
retire for the night dates from that evening. 



XV 

SENT ON APPLICATION 

It was a great day when we discovered the real 
value of newspapers. Previous to that they had 
often been employed for the making of paper 
boats on Sunday afternoons, and they were at 
times worn as cocked hats. There was also a 
method — culled from the pages of St, Nicholas — 
by which, through a process of intricate foldings 
and pleatings, they could be converted into large 
ungainly boxes, which swayed perilously upon four 
bandy legs. But we were in no way concerned 
with their printed contents; we valued them 
solely by their quality as raw material. The 
Times was ever in great demand — incomparable 
stuff for battleships. The Spectator failed chiefly 
in point of size; while some of the evening 
papers, flimsy and easily torn, were classed as 
useless. 

But the reading of papers was accepted merely 
107 



io8 Days of Discovery 

as one of the strange habits of Grown-up Persons, 
interesting only in so far as it lent itself to parody. 
(It went very well — In company with a pair of 
spectacles made out of lemonade wire — if carried 
out with pompous solemnity after the manner 
of Uncle Henry. The scene always culminated 
In a start of exasperation In which the paper 
was crushed Into a ball and flung beneath the 
table with violent words about the Stock Ex- 
change.) But at last there came a time when 
the daily press was eagerly scanned by the entire 
nursery with deliberate view to its contents, and 
we were able to discover In this unpromising 
source material for a whole campaign of a most 
productive and exciting nature. 

With a view to encouraging the art of letter- 
writing, which did not flourish among us, we 
had been given permission to help ourselves to 
stamps for all legitimate correspondence, and 
Colin had had the wit to see in this concession 
wide possibilities which had not occurred to the 
rest of us. Thoughtfully he ascended, with a 
large bundle of newspapers, to the top of the 
nursery cupboard — a favourite haunt of his when 
he wished to meditate in remote seclusion. There 
he remained for the entire morning and his aspect 



Sent on Application 109 

and behaviour for the rest of the day pointed 
clearly to some secret project which he was 
nursing silently. It was not till two days later 
that it burst upon us. He had risen, to my great 
surprise, fully ten minutes before it was abso- 
lutely necessary and rushed downstairs to the 
dining-room while I was still dressing. Then ha 
dashed in upon the nursery breakfast. In the 
middle of the porridge stage, glowing with 
triumph. With a splendid gesture he flung upon 
the table a long, bulgy blue envelope, addressed 
(without a shadow of doubt) to himself. Indeed, 
his name was there adorned with the high title 
of "Esquire." What was inside? Of course he 
must needs resort to the barren and exasperating 
practice of ''making us guess," while he supped 
his porridge complacently. But at last he broke 
the seal — yes. It was sealed! — and took out a 
number of printed papers, which he flung into 
the fire, and a small metal box containing the 
most delightful little caricature of a tablet of 
soap. The extraordinary cleanliness of the whole 
company that afternoon was the subject of much 
favourable comment, but sundry bright hopes 
that were built upon the incident were doomed 
to disappointment. Indeed, there was a violent 



no Days of Discovery 

reaction within the week, upon an evening when 
we were each engaged In turn In testing the 
capabilities of a new blacking. 

For with the fortuitous departure of Those in 
Authority to the Continent for a month the great 
new sport was soon In full swing. The alluring 
phrase, "Sample sent on application," became 
forthwith our watchword. We had discovered a 
fresh interest that carried us far beyond the 
narrow confines of the nursery, that suddenly 
put a new value upon newspapers, that made 
the arrival of the post the outstanding event of 
the day, and that brought us at once into touch 
with countless manufacturers throughout the 
land. By common consent our operations were 
conducted with profound secrecy. A special 
scout was told off every day to meet the postman 
at the door and bring up the morning's spoils, 
and our correspondence, which had become 
enormous, was for the most part conducted in 
the box-room behind locked doors. 

After a time we specialized. One of us took 
up the study and comparison of soaps, tooth 
powders and hair restorers. Another admitted 
only to his growing collection blotting-paper, 
pencils, and pen-nibs. A third dealt exclusively 



Sent on Application iii 

in patent medicines, with a special leaning to 
popular cures for fits. But the grocery depart- 
ment — my own — was that which scored most 
heavily. Indeed, I was only allowed to carry on 
this section of the concern, free from outside 
competition, on the understanding that the spoils 
must be ultimately divided. Even then I had 
far the best of it. There was nothing — not even 
the diminutive tubes of Special Cream for the 
Complexion — to be compared with my little sack 
of sugar, my three small biscuits in an envelope, 
or my baby canister of Finest Ceylon Tea. Over 
the latter we had an important meeting of com- 
mittee to test its qualities, but so unsuccessful 
was the result that I have always doubted if the 
water could really have been boiling. Or possibly 
the best tea should not be made in a tumbler? 
Archie, the stationer, struck out a special line in 
paints and blackings after a while, with which 
there is no doubt he had a very happy time, so 
much so that his province was unwarrantably 
invaded by the Chemist, who had begun to find 
patent medicines unprofitable — though it is true 
he had the satisfaction of trying some of them 
on the cat. My little sister (true to the call of 



1 1 2 Days of Discovery 

her sex) dealt, through an amanuensis, In "pat- 
terns" of stuffs and fabrics. 

Of course we had many embarrassments. Some 
of our urgent Inquiries elicited no reply. So 
many of them demanded the amount of return 
postage that depredations on the stamp-drawer 
In the library had to be carefully regulated in 
accordance with the supply at the moment, and 
as the stock ran low a call even had to be made 
upon pocket-money. But our chief anxieties 
were connected with the behaviour of sundry of 
our correspondents, who at times Insisted upon 
reopening the Incident after the sample had been 
sent and the transaction was (from our point of 
view) complete. We would get disturbing letters, 
pointing out that since the writer's last com- 
munication (enclosing sample of asthmatlcal 
cigarettes) he had heard no further from us. 
He would be glad to have our order at our earliest 
convenience. We were frankly baffled and not a 
little concerned as to what was our proper course 
in the face of this development. Discussion 
always ended by the letter being burned without 
reply, but we could not quite forget It. We could 
only hope that he would not go so far as to take 
proceedings. But there was one manufacturer 



Sent on Application 113 

(of a new and improved blend of office gum) who 
created a fearful scare by announcing by posK 
card that his representative would shortly be in 
our neighborhood and would call upon us one 
day at the end of the week. We spent the Friday 
and Saturday afternoons in ambush in the coal- 
hole, and only breathed freely again when Sunday 
morning arrived and we had heard nothing of 
this disturbing emissary. But the Stationer went 
so far as to insist upon returning, with acknowl- 
edgments, the half-finished bottle of gum. 

It was indeed a grand, absorbing pursuit. 
During the weeks when it was at its height we 
lived as in the presence of a continual birthday, 
with packets of all shapes and forms arriving by 
every post, and despite the experiments we carried 
out with the spoils our private collections soon 
reached fine proportions. It was the Chemist 
who, quite unwittingly, gave the thing away. 
He had a special friend outside the camp, in the 
boy in the house opposite, who by way of develop- 
ing a striking peculiarity had just become a strong 
teetotaller. He had already tried to convert Old 
Joe, the mole-catcher, to his principles, when it 
occurred to him that useful work might be done 
nearer home. He had been looking over the 



114 Days of Discovery 

Chemist's stock, and must have abstracted an 
Item from It all unobserved. For he was dis- 
covered one evening surreptitiously, and no doubt 
with the best Intentions In the world, putting a 
spoonful of The One Safe Cure for the Drink 
Habit Into his father's tea. And that was the 
end of it. 



XVI 

THE USES OF THE DUMMY. . 

I DO not think that we could lay claim to any 
special originality in this question of Dummies. 
I suppose that most children, certainly most 
lonely children, have known what it was to have 
a familiar spirit — an imagined brother, sister or 
friend to keep them company. It is as much 
part of the game as the practice of inventing and 
elaborating long, thrilling romances — in which 
one sustained the role of hero — leading always to 
a triumphant outcome and the confusion of one's 
enemies; or the practice of entering Into con- 
versation with Inanimate objects or any of the 
other natural results of the tissue of fantasy In 
which one lived. Familiar spirits Indeed require 
no explanation or defence: they were — as I 
hope to show — too obviously useful and neces- 
sary a part of one's equipment. One could hardly 
have been expected to get along without them. 
They sprang, I think, from that mystery of 
115 



Ii6 Days of Discovery 

dual personality which so often lay in the back- 
ground of one's thoughts. For at a time when 
almost everything was a matter for wonder and 
surprise, in a world which was full of discoveries 
there was perhaps nothing more surprising than 
one's own behaviour. One was continually doing 
and saying things that It was hard to believe in 
afterwards. How often have I wakened In the 
morning In meditative mood and picked out 
some action of the day before, as an insoluble 
puzzle, not probably with any sense of remorse 
or satisfaction, but with sheer Incredulity. One 
would seem to have had such a vague and In- 
complete Idea of what one was capable of doing. 
The unaccountable actions were of all sorts, 
good or bad or merely outlandish: some of a 
lurid wickedness, others perhaps of a strangely 
sympathetic and admirable nature. I would 
reflect that I was bad enough in many ways, 
but It simply could not have been I who had 
torn up that telegram lying upon the hall table 
In order to score off Those In Authority. That 
was altogether beyond one's range: that was 
felony. On the other hand, I had, candidly, 
my good points; but my treatment of the kitchen- 
maid, my spontaneous offer to bring in the coals 



The Uses of the Dummy iij 

for her (because she had had bad news from 
home) — that was quite outside my scope. I 
knew very well that I never, on principle, did 
that sort of thing. And so there grew the feeling 
that some one else had done it; some one, so to 
speak, who had popped in and taken possession 
of me for the moment — my familiar spirit. 

I remember well how the thing began. It 
was when I was trying to explain away an act of 
outstanding virtue, which had naturally offended 
my allies and had considerably bewildered me. 
Old John Gardener had forgotten to come in 
for the letters. Ever since that awful episode of 
the telegram I had had an exaggerated idea of 
the vast importance of all postal communica- 
tions. It was now four minutes past eight, and 
the post went at 8.10. The distance was not 
less than half a mile. And I happened to be 
tremendously busy at the time with a cap pistol 
that needed repairs. Yet I seized the letters 
and sped at the very top of my pace, arriving 
with them just in the nick of time. I was duly 
rewarded for this noble action. But I had never 
thought of that. Why had I done it? Colin, 
who was a good deal annoyed — partly at this sort 
of "sucking up" to Those in Authority smacked 



Ii8 Days of Discovery 

of disloyalty; partly perhaps because he hadn't 
thought of doing it himself — wanted to know 
why. He supposed, in his surliest manner, that 
I expected to score somehow. I assured him 
nothing had been further from my thoughts. 
He pressed me. Why? And I was quite at a 
loss. "I don't know," I said at last, not without 
a natural irritation. ''I don't believe I did do 
it. It must have been my Dummy." It is useless 
to inquire where I got the word from, but that 
was the origin of Dummies. Each one of us set 
one up forthwith. 

Their first use was simply to explain away such 
incidents as I have just related. They proved 
invaluable. Their co-operation was indeed most 
comforting and satisfactory as time went on. 
It was not Archie who made the calf swallow a 
cabbage with a string tied to it and afterwards 
pulled it around the yard. It was his Dummy. 
It could not have been Colin who shut up the 
hens in the conservatory, but it might very 
easily have been his Dummy. One had, of course, 
to suffer the consequences of such acts, but it 
was some comfort that we knew, and we alone, 
who were responsible. 

But after a while Dummies began to enjoy 



The Uses of the Dummy 119 

new powers. If yoti had any unpleasant duty to 
perform, it became the custom to send your 
Dummy, as a representative. If I were captured, 
owing to culpable negligence on my part, to 
accompany Auhority upon an afternoon call, 
you may be sure it was not I who went — though 
admittedly it appeared to be so. The ordeal 
had to be gone through to the bitter end, but it 
was not nearly so bad as it used to be In the 
old days. I had at least the happy consolation 
that this poor fellow was only my Dummy and 
that I w^as at home playing rounders. And in 
the same way the sort of relatives who insisted 
on kissing you — and that was a bad moment — 
little knew that they had really failed of their 
Intention, and it was only your Dummy who had 
suffered this indignity. 

We did not all treat our Dummies alike. My 
little sister, who occupied an obscure position In 
most of our undertakings, suddenly adopted a 
method which we could not but admire in this 
regard. Our reason for not ourselves imitating 
it was due to a feeling that it was peculiarly 
suited to her sex, though why that was so I am 
at a loss to explain. She had a whole committee 
of Dummies. And to these she would gravely 



I20 Days of Discovery 

submit any new problem that occurred for 
decision. There was Mabel, who always took 
the cynical and pessimistic view. There was 
Alice, who was simply horrid. Cynthia was so 
good and kind but very stupid: and Selina had 
red hair and talked too much. The only part 
that these played in her life (for she never grasped 
the more elaborate operations of the Dummy) 
was that of discussion and debate, but she spent 
many hours in consultation with them. For the 
rest Archie had the habit of sending forth his 
Dummy upon all manner of quests and adven- 
tures. It was his office to go out Into the world 
and do all the things that his master was re- 
strained from doing, and there was one occasion 
when after a fearful collision with the police he 
was locked up for three weeks, and Archie had 
to do himself all the little jobs that by rights 
belonged to him, eagerly counting the days till 
his release. This always seemed to me rather an 
unjustifiable and fantastic development. The 
essence of my Dummy was that he was always at 
hand, ready to change places with me In a 
moment, as occasion demanded, though I would 
sometimes, when he had had some particularly 
unpleasant job to perform, allow him as a reward 



The Uses of the Dummy 121 

to stay up for half an hour after I had gone to 
bed. 

Dummies were thus of the greatest possible 
practical use, and they were also, In times of 
loneliness and distress, a real help and comfort. 
There was a day when two small boys were 
tossing In bed in the same room in the horrid 
throes of chicken-pox. All attempts to while 
away the time had failed, and the mocking sun- 
shine poured In through the window, along with 
the voices of those more fortunate ones who 
had not yet fallen beneath the scourge. Of course 
It didn't do to cry, but still . . . 

''Never mind," whispered Archie. "It*s all 
right really. Our Dummies are out there, having 
a good time !" 



XVII 

WHITE. WEATHER 

It is a deplorable thing to lose one's taste for 
snow. There Is no more certain sign of advancing 
age. It means that one has ranked oneself for 
ever on the side of the Grown-ups. It is equiva- 
lent to losing one's taste for chocolate cream in 
slabs and for walking on the top of narrow walls 
and for climbing trees, and for taking violent 
exercise immediately after lunch. It seems, In 
fact, that one has reached the point of giving up 
nearly everything that Is worth doing, that one 
Is no longer capable of entering into the purest 
forms of high adventure. It Is possible perhaps 
to avoid the whole misfortune of growing up, to 
save at least some shreds and tatters of one's early 
possessions, and surely such a splendid gift as 
snow should be among them. I cannot believe 
that we need fall so low as to look out of the win- 
dow of the club shaking our heads, while the air 

122 



White Weather 123 

Is full of scurrying flakes, and talk about what a 
beastly mess the streets will be in to-morrow. 
Have we no prick of memory, and do we see no 
vision and hear no voice from the past that 
brings back to mind what snow once meant to 
us? 

It meant everything! It was by all odds the 
most glorious of the unforeseen events of the 
year. One would lie awake at night in the rest- 
less hope of It. One would spring out of bed at 
the dawn and draw up the blind, quivering with 
anticipation. One would welcome it with shouts 
of delight — it was quite impossible to sit still 
and pay any attention to one's lessons If it came 
on unexpectedly — with pagan rites and Invoca- 
tions, watching It with a painful, strained 
anxiety minute by minute, fearing a slackening of 
its force, dreading any lightening of the stone-grey 
pall above from which it tumbled, dull and dark, 
as one looked up against the sky, to change — 
oh, joyous miracle ! — to twinkling white as it 
passed by. One would tear oneself away to hide 
one's head awhile in sofa cushions and wait and 
wonder: then to return and see If it was gaining 
ground. And when it began to "lie" ! At 
first a film of grey, upon the grass, deepening, 



124 Days of Discovery 

deepening. Then the drive would begin to whiten 
and the trees to carry a light tracery. And now 
the grass is white, with only single stalks and 
tufts emerging, the gravel of the drive has lost 
its pebbly surface — the flakes are banking deep 
at the foot of the window pane, the trees are 
loading heavily. And now the line between 
drive and lawn Is submerged. All is a flat expanse 
of dazzling white. It is lying! It Is realy lying, 
and falling still, and getting heavier! It is all 
glorious, all too good to be true. Every circum- 
stance of the dull drab life of yesterday is blotted 
out, forgotten, rendered remote, lost in the 
splendid miracle of to-day. Let us rush forth 
with a whoop Into the thick of It, toss it and 
fling it, tramp through it, shake it in clouds 
from the trees, tumble and roll In it In sheer 
delight. 

And let us by no means forget to spread a 
handkerchief upon it that we may see how dirty 
and how crumpled it will look against that per- 
fect purity. 

Thus did we hail Its coming. But the miracle 
was more sudden and the wonder more startling 
when It came by night. For one thing it was 
amazing that that bewildering transformation 



White Weather 125 

should have occurred so silently. One would 
have expected at least a mighty rumbling, a 
shaking of foundations. But to have no warning 
whatever, to become aware perhaps as one opened 
one's eyes of something strange in the quality 
of the dim light in the room, to leap headlong 
to the window and wake the household with the 
reverberations of the great announcement — 
''Snow! Snow! Snow!" It was like a thunder- 
clap of good fortune. 

And when it went — when it grew heavy, grey 
and sugary, charged with moisture, when great 
rents appeared in the garment and vivid grass 
showed through — when the drive was ploughed 
into deep mud, and the trees let fall their burdens, 
we mourned its passing with a keen regret. At 
last there would be but little patches here and 
there — the remnant of the drift between the 
hedges — a shrinking bank behind the wall. We 
would husband it earnestly to the last. The 
Snow Man could still be mended as long as a few 
handfuls of material remained. Even the Snow 
House must be sacrificed to his superior claim, 
to keep him going as long as might be. But the 
end must come. Most tragic of all when rain 
demolished all the splendour. (Can I not hear 



126 Days of Discovery 

some soulless city man remark ^'I hope it will 
change to rain before night," and do I not grieve 
for him?) For to see all our Immeasurable gift 
washed away In drip and slush and mud, was to 
taste bitterness Indeed. 

The muffled sound of wheels. . . . Old John 
Gardener passing beneath the window, a shovel 
over his shoulder and a broom In his hand, 
grumbling (but, of course, he didn't mean It: 
wouldn't he be the first to lend his old clay 
pipe and a walking stick for the Snov/ Man?) 
. . . A kicking and scraping at the back door 
where the butcher's boy has arrived. ... A 
sudden avalanche off the roof on to the con- 
servatory. ... A cat floundering In awkward 
leaps across the lawn. . . . Birds that leave 
dainty tracks behind them. . . . And always 
muffled footsteps . . . muffled wheels. Why, 
even from the nursery window It was a new 
world. 

And when one went forth Into the thick of 
It! At the very outset there was a danger of a 
flood in the yard where the culvert had got 
choked. And all about us, lavishly heaped on 
every side, tons of incomparable material for 
more good ends than one could think of In a day. 



White Weather 127 

There was the Snow Man of course. He came 
first, If only from our natural desire to husband 
and preserve, for when all else was gone he would 
remain to us for some few days at least — a dwind- 
ling pillar. Then the Snow House, hollowed out 
with spades from a heaped, solid mass. After 
that perhaps Snow Steps, Snow Statues. And 
through them all a running fire of Snow Balls. 
You see there was work for months if only it 
would last. The one burning question of the 
day was always — Will It "bind" ? Binding snow 
was a rare but perilous delight. For well we 
knew that It was thawing. The very fact of Its 
great excellence was also the warning of Its Im- 
pending departure. And feverishly, madly we 
made the most of It. It was hard indeed to be 
dragged into the house at all on days of binding 
snow. Surely to go in for dinner was to allow 
the petty routine of every day to shackle and 
confine a festival? Was there not time to eat 
when It was dark? For meanwhile great cylin- 
drical rolls of white were being pushed to and 
fro, growing and swelling as they went, picking 
up the snow behind them so cleanly as to leave a 
long green ribbon In their wake, and becoming 
at last so huge that two or three must push 



128 Days of Discovery 

together, and it was high time they were headed 
for the slope of the bank, where they might 
finish ponderously down hill. 

And even all that is but the beginning of the 
tale. There were sledges and toboggans. In the 
garden much might be done, by using the two 
banks and making a hard beaten track between 
them. It must be trampled down, and beaten 
hard, and — if there was prospect of a frost at 
night — watered laboriously. Thereafter by care- 
ful cultivation and incessant use we would work 
up the pace (with the toboggan that old John 
had made) till we could run both banks with 
ease and far across the bottom lawn. And once, 
when the conditions had been all in favour and 
the snow had stayed a week, we were even able to 
reach the wall at the far side and steer gingerly 
past the summer-house. Then would we supple- 
ment old John's toboggan with a motley crew of 
other racers — an old teatray (which spun slowly 
round upon its course) , a piece of corrugated iron 
(most obstinate to steer) the shiny leather cushion 
from the schoolroom sofa (but there was trouble 
about that). And there were greater toboggan- 
ing adventures far afield. There was a reckless 
course down a steep street, to the terror of the 



White Weather 129 

normal traffic. There were the sand-hills, where 
slopes were long and smooth, and the speed 
terrific. . . . 

Indeed It was a grievous thing to lose one^s 
taste for snow. 



XVIII 

FROST 

One of the earliest and most painful periods of 
acute self-denial that I can remember was that 
during which I was saving up to buy a ther- 
mometer. It was not by any means so bad as the 
time that I broke Miss Jones' umbrella. That 
was a painful matter altogether. I had broken 
it in a sense deliberately. That is to say, I had 
been told not to lean upon It, as It would not 
stand my weight, and having a different opinion 
upon that point I had continued to lean upon it 
with a careless and detached air until It suddenly 
gave way. Therefore It was ordained that I 
must pay for the repairs. Miss Jones, I knew, 
would not have insisted had I been able to get 
her alone and talk It over with her, but Those 
in Authority Intervened. One and Ninepence it 
came to, which — with the official pocket-money 
ruling at sixpence a month — left me a pretty 
dreary prospect to look forward to. The accumu- 

130 



Frost 131 

latlon of the first shilling was not so bad. I 
happened to come in for a windfall and besides I 
had started with a grim determination. But the 
next sixpence dragged horribly, and, at the last, 
when I handed in the whole amount. It was with 
the feeling of an escaped prisoner and with a 
lively distaste for umbrellas from which I have 
never quite recovered. 

The thermometer was not nearly so bad as 
that. It was a self-imposed trial for one thing, 
and the monthly rate had risen to ninepence by 
then. But it was a big effort all the same. It 
argued a remarkable firmness of purpose to go 
forward as I did then, week after week, austere, 
ascetic, till I had almost forgotten the taste of 
chocolate cream. But I never regretted It. The 
truth is that I had begun to mistrust the readings 
of the thermometer on the wall outside the dining- 
room window. For one thing it was a full six feet 
off the ground, and I was convinced that It was 
also affected by the heat from the room. Anyhow 
it had stood at 36 one day when Ice was forming 
on the puddles. I could never feel the same faith 
in It after that. 

But when I had my own I soon found It pos- 
sible to obtain magnificent readings, which quite 



132 Days of Discovery 

put to shame the thermometer upon the wall. 
If the wind was in the south when the frost 
came I would put it on the ground in the Field 
Below where it got the whole force of the blast; 
if the frost came from the north I would mount 
it on the High Trellis. I would consult it at 
night with a box of matches, and again before 
breakfast in the twilight. And thus I got it 
almost at its best. Often in the Twenties. More 
than once below Twenty. On one memorable 
occasion as low as 12 degrees. That was in the 
morning. The morning readings generally beat 
those taken over night. One went to bed so 
deplorably early. Meanwhile that lumbering old 
instrument on the wall would be dragging along 
five or six Degrees behind, as if unable to believe 
in the full extent of the glorious dispensation of 
the frost. Decidedly my money was well in- 
vested. 

My thermometer was never of the slightest 
interest to me when it recorded anything over 
40 degrees. A comparison of one warm day 
with another, the difference between the sun 
and shade temperature simply counted for 
nothing. All that was as bad as consulting the 
barometer. It was simply Weather, We had 



Frost 133 

no interest in weather. But when it got well 
down into the thirties it began to show prospect 
of frost, and frost meant Ice. 

We longed for its coming with an almost 
painful anxiety. We did all we could to welcome 
it. The thermometer, although indubitably the 
chief of our recording implements, was by no 
means the only one. My eldest brother pinned 
his faith to a wet rag, hung on a bush — not too 
wet, but nicely wrung out to the proper con- 
sistency. He would consult it frequently and 
moisten it at intervals: and at the very first sign 
of stiffening he would call us all together to 
rejoice with him. I can see him now as he used 
to come sadly in to tea shaking his head, after a 
disappointing inspection. "Still limp," he would 
say, "still quite limp." There was another who 
worked with a shallow bowl or saucer and fre- 
quently raised a discussion on the interesting 
inquiry as to whether boiling water froze quicker 
than cold water, as we had been told. Another had 
a tumbler on a chosen spot on the bank, and would 
bring in — on good mornings — a beautifully shaped 
cone of ice, not quite solid but with the water 
locked inside. And there were bottles, of course. 
If you cork a bottle in the ordinary way and the 



134 Days of Discovery 

frost Is keen It will push up the cork some Inches 
at the end of a spoke of Ice, In the most delight- 
ful manner. And — better still — If you fix the 
cork firmly enough with wire and there Is a really 
tremendous frost (so we believed, though I must 
admit we never proved It) It will break! That, 
of course, Is simply the Ice trying to get out. 
You may guess that after a really big night's 
work, when even the out-of-date old Instrument 
on the wall had spoken of great cold, It was a 
splendid and most moving thing to sally forth 
In the white, misty, breathless dawn to visit our 
devices and count up our gains. Sometimes you 
could hold out Sidney's rag by one corner, 
horizontally, like a stick. 

And there Is white, clear, crackling cat-Ice on 
the puddles . . . and the Pit Is skimmed over 
with a noble sheet . . . and everything Is dry 
and clean and hard . . . and every little twig 
and blade picked out In white. . . . There are 
exquisite sprays and branches, pennons and spikes 
on the windows In the house . . . and a frozen 
sponge In the bathroom. It Is too soon as yet 
to speak of skating. For no one must venture 
on the Pit till old John Gardener has safely 
walked across It. But, If there be no change by 



Frost 135 

the afternoon, by Jove, we'll start to make the 
slide to-night! 

By the light of a candle set on the ground, 
burning serenely in the still air, the walk beyond 
the lawn was banked at either end. And then 
back and forth we ran, interminably, with jugs 
and buckets, from the tap in the pantry, lavishly 
drenching he whole length of the asphalt. Back 
and forth from the light and warmth within to 
the chill, outer air, straining and spilling as we 
went, and ever encouraged by our chief who 
would assure us that a little more would do, just 
a little, and it was actually freezing on already. 
Thus we would lay up reckless joys — always pro- 
vided that the rag be not limp and forlorn — for 
the morrow. 

I had a secret method of my own, an impious, 
pagan method for encouraging the frost. I 
cannot remember a single occasion on which It 
bore fruit, but I had strong faith in it all the 
same. When first the Pit was coated over, long 
before Old John's first adventurous expedition 
upon it was even thought of, I would fling out 
upon the glittering surface a silver coin, secretly 
and unobserved. One did not part with three- 
pence without a pang. But I had great faith. 



136 Days of Discovery 

The theory was that thus one tempted Fortune 
in the hope that one's courage woud bring a fit 
reward. If the frost held till the Pit would bear, 
I would recover my imperilled offering. And if 
not it would be lost to me for ever. 



XIX 

THE GALE 

Weather Is only of Interest to small boys when it 
becomes startling and aggressive. Generally we 
took It very much as It came. There was plenty 
to do In the house when It rained: and we were 
practically Impervious to variations of heat and 
cold. Indeed, I think we hardly noticed the 
weather. We never commented on It In the usual 
course of events. To be able to remark that It Is 
a fine day, when that fact is obvious to any one 
who cares to look. Is essentially a fatuous and 
grown-up accomplishment. What we demanded 
of the weather was abnormal situations. We were 
always hungry for anything that was capable of 
upsetting the daily tenor of our life, anything 
that created new conditions, anything that caused 
confusion and opened up opportunity. When 
Miss Gardener^s younger sister took scarlet fever 
and a new governess had to be found while she 
was in quarantine, it was all sheer gain. When 

137 



138 Days of Discovery 

the bow-window was being put In to the nursery 
and we had to migrate to the spare room, with 
much hauling back and forth of furniture, we 
rejoiced exceedingly. It was all so splendidly 
Inconvenient. And when, there being serious 
Illness In the house, one or more of us had to be 
boarded out In Inferior lodgings, hasUy acquired, 
It was magnificent. It Is hardly too much to say 
that we lived In the daily hope of something 
going wrong. What we wanted was chaos. 

In this regard the weather sometimes came to 
our aid. Snow was, of course, the most valuable 
dispensation, and frost, while It lasted, kept us 
in a quivering state of delight. But extreme heat 
— capable of prostrating Grown-ups — was not to 
be despised. Thunder-storms, floods and hurri- 
canes and even fog, if it were dense enough, were 
welcomed with ecstatic glee, In violent contrast 
to the apprehension of more reasonable beings. 
Indeed In these matters we cannot be said to 
have been In sympathy with our parents and 
guardians, whose relief at the passing of the 
visitation great as It was cannot have been greater 
than our bitter disappointment. 

Especially we disagreed about wind. Grown- 
up People, even when It wasn't dangerous, always 



The Gale 139 

appeared to find wind irritating and objection- 
able. Perhaps they resented being banged about: 
perhaps they did not appreciate losing their hats: 
possibly they found it difficult, if a shower came 
on, to steer an umbrella. Of course the truth is 
that the first use of wind is to bang one about: 
that there is no more merry sport than chasing a 
hat, especially among traffic: that an umbrella 
(contemptible at other times) becomes a splendid 
Instrument of joyous motion if opened out before 
the gale, so that one has dreams of a conceivable 
development, if only the wind Is strong enough 
and the umbrella large enough, In which one 
will be lifted off one's feet, hallooing gloriously. 
It was not only In the uses to which it might 
be put, however, that wind appealed to us. There 
were days when It seemed to get Into one's blood. 
Inspiring, uplifting, lashing one Into a frenzy as 
nothing else would do. The roar of It in the 
branches . . . the howl of It about the chimney- 
pots . . . the tearing, rending force, bending and 
swaying all before it . . . the mad dance of 
scurrying leaves . . . the whisk and sudden grip 
of It! . . . Did It not Invite one to rush forth 
with open arms, with upturned face, deafened 
and tossed and buffeted, with the breath blown 



140 Days of Discovery 

out of one's mouth and the dust blown into one's 
eyes — yelling and prancing on a headlong course? 
It was a fine sensation to brace oneself and peer 
Into the teeth of It: It was a most singular and 
delightful sensation to turn one's back and lean 
up against It, boldly adventuring one's weight 
and sprawling at full length If there came a 
sudden lull. And there were, of course, plenty of 
special sports and games that belonged to It. 
You could mount a sail on the go-cart and tool 
gaily about the asphalt. You could sport with 
Inflated pillow-cases: and you would not fall 
to go down to the cliffs to see the tide come in. 

And, with any luck, there was pretty sure to be 
Damage. There were days when even a tour 
through the streets meant dodging flying chimney 
pots. One could count on something giving way. 
There was at every point at least a chance of 
crashing destruction. Once I met a flying cab, 
and that was perhaps the greatest event of all. 
For there is nothing that takes one's breath away 
like a flying cab — whirled up the street backwards. 
Even loose slates counted for something In reckon- 
ing up the bag. 

And then the great question arose of the be- 
haviour of the trellis. It ran between the bleach- 



The Gale 141 

ing green and the kitchen garden and was a full 
eight feet high. And It was very old and Infirm. 
There had hardly been a notable gale In which 
the trellis had not sagged and suffered. It had 
been boosted up a dozen times with fresh sup- 
ports. And It was morally certain that some 
day It would come down at a blow In Its whole 
swishing, crackling length. You may guess that 
we did not mean to miss that moment. As a 
matter of fact it fell at the last in the middle 
of the night and we were left with the barren 
satisfaction of gloating on the wreck. 

In the house next door, which had a large 
expanse of garden, lived an Irate old gentleman. 
He was a great asset. I am convinced that no 
family of small boys can be considered to have 
been brought up In circumstance of unfettered 
opportunity without an Irate old gentleman next 
door. Our feud with him dated from a time 
when he had deliberately refused to send back 
tennis balls — although they can have been of no 
earthly use to him. We watched him from the 
top of the great wall. We made daring Incur- 
sions Into his territory. Sometimes, with a piece 
of bread on the end of a string, we fished for his 
hens. But the matter had never reached the point 



142 Days of Discovery 

of a deliberate complaint to Those in Authority, 
as our relations with the Girls' School on the 
other side had done more than once. It was 
the Gale that brought it to a head. We would 
not have thought of such a thing at any other 
time, but, as I have said, wind gets into the very 
blood of a small boy and makes him capable 
of anything: and so our perennial desire to 
score off the old gentlman found suddenly a 
brilliant outlet. I had been tossing up my cap 
to see how far it would travel, and it sailed high 
across the wall, and thus the idea came to me. 
It was a Sunday afternoon and— in contrast to 
the hurricane outside — peace reigned within the 
house. There was little chance of being caught. 
With all the newspapers we could lay hands on 
we made our way to the top of the wall, clinging 
on precariously by the Ivy. The plan was both 
beautifully simple and exceedingly amusing. You 
had but to tear up the papers, roll each piece In 
a rough ball and toss it high in air, where it was 
sent flying into the old gentleman's garden. They 
ran across the lawn, caught in the bushes, some of 
them hanked long streamers In the trees. Many 
were held up flapping against the conservatory. 
Some flew on over the far hedge to decorate the 



The Gale 143 

kitchen garden. One at last caught the sundial 
(which had been our special objective). Twice 
we had to send Archie Into the house for fresh 
supplies of material. And by the time we had 
finished the whole garden lay before us a dis- 
graceful desolation of torn newspaper. Wouldn^t 
there be a row ! 

We went In, meek but triumphant, to nursery 
tea. We talked as best we could of the ordinary 
affairs of life. We ate and drank demurely. But 
all the time we were straining our ears for the 
signal that was bound to come. We were quite 
resigned: we had had our fun: had shown the 
old gentleman what happens to those who retain 
other people's tennis balls: we had made that 
garden look like a fool. Had we not counted a hun- 
dred and twenty-four of our . Ah, there It 

was at last! A violent, urgent ringing of the 
front door bell. 



XX 

DEVICES . AND . CONTRIVANCES 

From the moment when it begins seriously to 
ape and imitate the behaviour of those who are 
grown-up childhood loses its savour of spontaneity 
and surrenders its precious point of view. There 
was, of course, an earlier imitative age when we 
copied most assiduously the habits and manners 
of Those in Authority. But that was a travesty 
pure and simple. We were not trying to be as 
they were or to do as they did. We were simply 
trying to take them off and to show them up. 
It was a dramatic form of parody. In this spirit 
one would settle solemnly down to read a vast 
volume from the library, holding it at an angle 
to catch the light and laboriously adjusting 
borrowed pince-nez, or one would shave with the 
back of a comb, facing the mirror with startling 
contortions of expression. There were many 
light-hearted jokes of that sort in vogue. The 
144 



Devices and Contrivances 145 

calling of cabs, the tipping of waiters, the 
answering of telephones, the pompous attitude 
on the hearthrug with back to the fire, based upon 
Uncle John; the appreciative sipping of port, 
based upon Uncle Henry — all these were joyously- 
performed. But it is at the time when one 
begins to think that it might really be of interest 
to read a book from the library or that it might 
really be a fine thing to have to shave In sober 
earnest, that the true spirit of the Golden Age 
fades rapidly away. 

For the guiding principle of boyhood is a wide 
freedom from all order, conventionality, tradi- 
tion; a rooted determination not to tread the 
beaten track, to choose its pursuits for Itself and 
evolve Its Interests for Itself. A boy may be kept 
within a fairly rigid programme of daily habit In 
the outward practical life. But all that Is to 
him no more than the Inevitable and monotonous 
framework of his existence. In the chosen 
enthusiasms that consume his strange, eager little 
heart he cannot be coerced. He will royally 
disregard elaborate arrangements for his enter- 
tainment, however carefully they may have been 
prepared, In favour of some queer and seemingly 



146 Days of Discovery 

futile occupation of his own that he had thought 
of himself, that belonged to himself. I remember 
the oft-repeated complaint that no one ever 
knew what I would do next. But I never knew 
myself. That was why life was so vivid and 
entrancing. It had no foregone conclusions. It 
was a long procession of the unexpected and the 
improbable. 

I was always much engrossed with problems of 
communication by new and original methods. 
I am now convinced that no one has less aptitude 
for mechanics or engineering than I. But in 
those days I wrestled with self-appointed diffi- 
culties. There was no reason for it whatsoever. 
If one did want to send a message from the 
nursery to the bathroom, the quickest and most 
direct method was either to go in person or to 
shout. But I must have my own contrivance for 
this absurd and inadequate purpose. Even if it 
could only be laid down when the traffic was sus- 
pended, even if it was liable to be pinched when 
the door swung to, even if the door had to be 
held open with a chair as long as it was in action, 
I was well satisfied when I got through my mes- 
sages — about nothing at all — by speaking tube. 
I used a telephone later on that could actually be 



Devices and Contrivances 147 

extended as far as the dining-room, by means of 
two little drums connected by a string. But I 
never really cared for that. It had not been my 
own idea. It smacked of the shop. 

But a really fine effect was produced by means 
of pulleys. And this I elaborated greatly. Even 
now I cannot quite accept a pulley as a mere 
mechanical device. I must regard it with a more 
friendly eye as an engine of adventure and 
romance. A string was stretched tight from the 
window of the spare bedroom to the lawn out- 
side, and on this ran a pulley with a small basket 
depending from it, which could be drawn up and 
down with a cord. It gave me a fine sense of 
achievement to sit at the open window, with my 
accomplice down below, hauling up and letting 
down all manner of assorted cargoes. Well did I 
know that if others wished to deposit a cricket ball 
for any reason — surely the contingency might 
occur — on the seat beneath the holm-oak, they 
must pass down two flights of stairs and along the 
passage and out of the front door, while I could 
do it in a moment, sitting here. And I took a 
rich delight in making up the cargo of the most 
delicate and perishable goods, watches, clocks, a 
china vase from the drawing-room, to prove the 



148 Days of Discovery 

high efficiency of my means of transit. Pulleys 
became a wholly absorbing passion for the time. 
Nearly every upstairs window had its line of 
communication; then string gave place to wire, 
and the distances were increased as I threw out 
my receiving stations far and wide. The climax 
was reached when we penetrated to the roof of 
the pottlng-shed, and that night the basket 
swung bobbing down the line with a lighted 
lantern showing red within, full of suggestion of 
messages despatched from a besieged citadel, of 
signals to smugglers in the offing, or of rescues 
in a stormy sea. 

The highly ingenious episode of the mirrors 
was the outcome, if I remember rightly, of one 
of those enforced days in the house — with a cold 
— when one's Inventive faculties were put to the 
test. It probably could not have been carried 
to a successful Issue had not Those In Authority 
been away from home that afternoon, and that 
would have been a pity, for I think It will be 
admitted that It was a thing well worth the 
doing. It Is surprising how many mirrors there 
are in a house when they are all gathered together. 
I had no lack of material. My object was to make 
a perfect chain of vision from the night-nursery, 



Devices and Contrivances '149 

down two flights of stairs and round three corners, 
to the storeroom In the basement. It took no 
little delicacy of manipulation, but I built It up 
one stage at a time from the bottom end, with 
every mirror tilted so as to gather the reflection 
of the one before, till at last with a shout of 
triumph I had the thing complete, and lying on 
my bed upstairs I could see Colin making faces at 
me beneath the storeroom gas. What unimagina- 
tive Grown-up would ever, I ask, have thought 
of that? 

Perhaps it was the mirrors that suggested 
searchlights and all the grand possibilities of a 
bright tin lid or piece of glass catching and flashing 
forth the rays of the sun. It was good fun to 
make this beam of light travel round the room. 
Illuminating dusty corners and startling unsus- 
pecting persons with a sudden dazzling shock. 
But It was far better In the open air. And the 
proudest moment of my brief career In the great 
world of signals, messages and communications 
was when I found myself In a ferry-boat far out 
In the river and by preconcerted arrangement 
could see and glory In the flashes of my accom- 
plice In the garden on the hill two miles 
away. 



l^o Days of Discovery 

I am only at a loss to understand why all this 
early promise should have come to nought, and 
why Marconi and the rest should now have the 
field entirely to themselves. 



XXI 

WHEN THE BURGLARS CAME 

It actually happened: there was no make- 
believe about it. It was probably the most 
tremendous event of our whole childhood, the 
most staggering, suggestive, romantic. It was a 
whole chapter out of a real detective story en- 
acted before our very eyes. It brought the 
burglar home to us as a real criminal who broke 
in the real houses of real people. He was no 
longer a glorious abstraction, like the Pirate and 
the Brigand. Furthermore, it completely upset 
the ordinary tenor of our life, and anything that 
was capable of doing that was always welcomed 
with glee; and it gave us fine thrills of terror 
which added much to the spice of existence. It 
was a time of awestruck whispers of solemn con- 
claves, of dark surmises and sinister reflection. I 
suppose that Grown-up Persons must have found 
it a time of anxiety and annoyance, but it meant 
so much to the nursery that surely on balance 

151 



152 Days of Discovery 

the household may be said to have gained rather 
than lost by the visitation. Besides, all the stolen 
goods were recovered — which was rather dis- 
appointing from our point of view and savoured 
of anti-climax. 

The real hero among us was Sidney, who came 
out of the affair with flying colours, regarded with 
envious eyes for the part that he had played. 
It is true that he had slept through the crisis and 
known nothing of it till the morning, but at 
least he alone had come into actual contact with 
the housebreakers. He slept at that time on the 
ground floor, and they must have looked In upon 
him while engaged upon their unholy activities, 
for they had — and It just shows how much they 
feared him as an opponent — they had actually 
locked him in! His first knowledge of the Event 
was when he found himself a prisoner In the 
morning. But the fun had begun before that. 
It began at 6.30 a.m., with the hysterics of the 
cook — and no wonder. For these dreadful men, 
in a spirit of reckless levity, had actually fixed 
up a sort of scarecrow on the kitchen table before 
taking their departure. 

There followed an hour of panic and amaze- 
ment of running up and down stairs, of fetching 



When the Burglars Came 153 

assistance, of proclaiming conflicting theories, of 
heated argument and general confusion. And 
after that the thrilling period of investigation 
and discovery. It Is not to be supposed that we 
were allowed to be present while this was in 
progress. After a hasty toilet, in which we must 
assist each other, for no outside help was to be 
looked for, we were kept safely out of the way 
as far as possible by a distracted under-nurse, 
from whom little information could be elicited. 
But a scout would escape from time to time, and 
as the first startling facts came to light the report 
of them soon filtered through to us. We were 
enormously impressed at the very outset by the 
serious, set purpose of these desperate men, who 
had actually removed the cake and laid it care- 
fully upon the pantry shelf while abstracting the 
silver basket in which it had reposed. We felt 
at once that these were no ordinary pilfers, else 
they had hardly left the noble cake behind. 
They had taken five coats from the front hall! 
They had taken the Money-boxes — Our Money- 
boxes ! — from the shelf in the library. At this 
point a more rigid censorship was established. 
We must. It seemed, eat our breakfast (just as on 
any ordinary day) and ask no more questions. 



154 Days of Discovery 

But despite all efforts to suppress our legitimate 
curiosity we managed to find out in the course 
of the day, by a variety of means, most of the 
known facts and to piece them together to our 
complete satisfaction. Much was picked up by 
overhearing indiscreet servants imparting the 
latest information to one another. Something, 
but not very much, was picked up by pumping 
old John Gardener, who, by the way, had become 
a person of enormous importance — consulting 
with policemen, investigating upon his own 
account, dismissing with asperity the reporter 
of the local paper, generally overlooking opera- 
tions. 

As each new fragment of information came to 
us a whispered consultation would take place 
upon the nursery sofa in a white heat of excite- 
ment. They had got in by the kitchen window 
(quite an easy feat, as we knew well) ; they had 
broken one of the teaspoons to see if it was silver 
(experts without a doubt). They had taken the 
big epergne with the stags on it (pity that that 
should go into the pot, for no doubt they would 
melt it down). There was a strong impression 
(quite unsupported by evidence) that they had 
been armed with revolvers. Finally there was 



When the Burglars Came 155 

the dramatic Incident of the desk In the library. 
That was the climax of the story, and even to 
this day the patched desk remains to tell the tale. 
A part of the lid had been chipped away with a 
chisel (or let us hope with some more unholy 
tool, known only to the profession), but before 
it had been forced open an interruption must 
have occurred. They had fled, with the job 
but half complete, and there was no doubt that 
the desk contained an enormous sum of money. 

There were already three separate theories In 
the field as to where they had surmounted the 
wall, but a splendid clue had been discovered In 
the shrubbery by old John Gardener. (What a 
man for a job of this sort!) There could be seen 
footprints, no less, guarded by a policeman, and 
covered by a plank, lest they should be effaced. 
This was where they had stood watching the light 
in the night-nursery till it went out and the 
moment came for action. We shuddered when 
we thought of that silent vigil beneath our very 
windows, picturing to ourselves these two aban- 
doned men (fingering revolvers) approaching 
their nefarious work. Later a part of the blade 
of a broken penknife came to light in the 
kitchen window. Here was a certain clue. We 



156 Days of Discovery 

should be all right now. And yet one might have 
hoped that they had forced the window with 
something more professional than a penknife. It 
ought to have been a jemmy. We began to feel 
that they were losing cast^. It was rumoured 
that the policeman had already spoken of them 
as mere amateurs. 

After the first excitement had gone by and life 
had resumed its normal lines we had the greatest 
difficulty in gathering any further information. 
It was adjudged best that we should be kept in 
ignorance and allowed to forget the disturbing 
episode. No one would tell us anything of the 
chase and the capture. No one would even refer 
to the Event. Except that Sidney now slept 
upstairs, everything went on as before. But 
after a time stray facts escaped the censor. There 
was some talk of a landlady who, peering through 
a keyhole, had thought it strange to see "silver 
stags" on the floor of the room; and of one mis- 
creant who had basely left his accomplice in the 
lurch, with a heavy trunk to transport by night, 
and vanished. And then the lost property re- 
appeared. It was all over then? Not quite. For 
a full month later came the news that the ab- 
sconding accomplice had been taken in a city In 



When the Burglars Came 157 

the Midlands — with the broken penknife in his 
pocket! But we could never make a coherent 
story of the sequel. We were cruelly starved of 
information, and could only surmise the course 
of events, picture to ourselves the great scene at 
the trial, and guess at the length of the sentence. 
After all, it was perhaps as well that we should 
begin to think of something else. It was a glow- 
ing, thrilling episode. It made a magnificent story. 
For some time it cast a halo of romance about us 
in our dealings with the children in the house 
opposite. But these great gains were not attained 
without a price. It was not pleasant to dream of 
burglars. It became the custom to leave the gas 
on until one was asleep. For a time one did not 
go alone into the garden after dark; and if one 
happened to wake in the night a disturbing vision 
would immediately present itself — of two masked 
figures in the shrubbery below. 



XXII 

PAINS AND PENALTIES 

There was nothing drastic, nothing forcible 
about the forms of punishment which chiefly 
appealed to Those In Authority, and which I am 
to suppose contributed their quota to the forma- 
tion of the character that I now possess. Far 
be it from me to attribute to these methods any 
measure of success in that endeavour, if one is to 
judge them only by results. But I have always 
held them In high esteem, both for their perfect 
simplicity and for the undoubted mastery with 
which they obtained their immediate object. 
Castlgation, fine or imprisonment would have 
been, I know, more easily endured, and therefore 
less effective than this admirable and artless 
system of punishment by boredom. It was 
nothing more than a forced pause in the headlong 
course of one's life, the imposition of a period 
of Inactivity, uneventfulness, and therefore In- 
tolerable dulness. In later life it may well be 

158 



Pains and Penalties 159 

that one would find it no great hardship to have 
to sit for an hour on a chair and do nothing — 
indeed, I think there are days with most of us 
when we would gladly welcome such a programme 
were there anyone of a sufficient authority to 
enforce It. But it was not so then. And to be 
sent to bed an hour before one's usual time would 
to many of us now be a luxury and a satisfaction. 
Then one regretted bitterly that one lost hour 
which could never be recovered. 

The punishment of sitting on chairs was de- 
rived, It may be, from the ancient institution of 
the stocks; certainly It was related to It, In that 
one was thereby subjected to the jibes and sar- 
casm of the passer-by. If one had a brother 
engaged at the time on any engrossing or exciting 
pursuit It was natural that he should bring it into 
the room where one was thus detained and spread 
It forth and gloat over It; while through the 
open window came joyous shouts of freedom, 
hardly called for by the nature of the occasion. 
And there one sat with set teeth and clouded 
brow, going through with It to the best of one's 
poor ability, trying to concentrate one's ever- 
wandering thoughts upon some subject that 
would help the time to pass, trying above all not 



l6o Days of Discovery 

to look at the clock; though ever and anon one's 
eyes would be drawn there by a dreadful fascina- 
tion. The jaunty and casual air with which one 
had taken up one's position had barely outlasted 
the first five minutes: It had been followed by 
a state of wriggling impatience that grew ever in 
intensity. Of course a whole hour was a tremen- 
dous sentence — I fancy it was equivalent to about 
three months' hard labour in later life — and no 
bird escaping from the fowler's snare can have 
felt a greater relief and exultation than the 
prisoner when at last the minute hand would 
creep round again to its starting-place and he 
could kick the chair away and scamper forth. 

To be sent to bed an hour before one's time 
carried with it a certain sting that added greatly 
to its mortification. It was not so much a ques- 
tion of It being before the usual time, as of it 
being before one's small sister. That was an 
Indignity, an encroachment upon one's just 
rights. But quite apart from that It was terrible 
to have the day cut short. I like to think of that 
and to remember that there was a time when 
every separate day was a special gift and a vast 
opportunity, when It was a poignant loss to have 
It even thus curtailed. But on those occasions 



Pains and Penalties i6i 

when I was the victim of this sad experience 
there came at last to me a certain fortunate 
philosophy which was infinitely comforting. For 
I reflected that the sooner I was safe in bed and 
sound asleep (and the two were almost simul- 
taneous) the nearer I had come to To-morrow. 
In a way one might count the episode, if one 
reflected calmly, as a gain. For one was actually 
nearer by a whole hour than those others, still 
downstairs, to To-morrow. And splendid as 
To-day had been it was never comparable with 
To-morrow. 

The dreadful experience of sitting on chairs 
reached its climax on a memorable Saturday when 
we had forgotten that one of Those in Authority 
would return from the office early in the after- 
noon instead of after tea. I know not how It 
came about that the moated castle we had built 
was allowed to degenerate Into a pool of liquid 
mud, or which of us it was that had conceived 
the Idea of playing a new form of hunt-the- 
slipper In Its horrid depths, but when the sport 
was at Its height the gate from the Field Below 
opened and we remembered — that it was Saturday. 
We were caught, one might say with literal truth, 
red-handed. The sentences were very heavy, 



1 62 Days of Discovery 

as was inevitable, and on the same evening, when 
they were carried out, every sitting-room in the 
house was requisitioned, and for a silent hour 
each held its wriggling victim on a chair. So 
fully was the available space occupied indeed 
that Sidney was relegated to the summer-house; 
and I, who was only ''doing half-an-hour,'* on 
the theory that I had been led astray, had at 
least the satisfaction of adjourning there, when 
my own time was up, and making faces at him 
through the window. 

A sort of combination of these two forms of 
punishment was tried once, I remember, on a 
Sunday when we escaped from going to church 
by hiding in the rhubarb. It was not that we 
objected to church in any special degree; it was 
rather that we could not resist the rhubarb, 
which at that time had grown long and rank and 
splendidly dense. It was such a perfect hiding- 
place that we had only to find an adequate reason 
for hiding, and to escape from church did as 
well as any other. It was splendid to hear people 
calling one's name within a few yards of where 
one lay, when one could actually peer out and 
see their legs. And when all was still we crept 
forth and ht^2in to wonder and discuss "how 



Pains and Penalties 163 

long we would get." It was decreed that we go 
to bed In the afternoon! But that as a punitive 
experiment failed of Its object. It was an In- 
novation, and therefore Interesting . It was 
almost an adventure. To be In bed In broad sun- 
shine, when one was quite well! It was alto- 
gether too amusing a situation to depress. 

But by far the most effective form of punish- 
ment to which we were subjected was the dread 
Apology. It is hard In later life — It Is, I think, 
especially hard for newspaper editors and Mem- 
bers of Parliament — to apologize. It Is almost 
impossible. In my experience, for a small boy. 
Well do I remember a hideous day of dark re- 
bellion when this awful task was put upon me. 
We had been throwing snowballs at the pupils 
next door as they came out two by two from the 
gate of Ollnda and one at least of them had found 
its billet. I was adjudged the culprit, not because 
I was the eldest, nor yet because I had first thought 
of it, but because I alone had succeeded, where 
all had tried, in hitting the mark. And th.it 
rankled deeply. It was decreed that I call on 
the Lady Principal and apologize. For the rest 
of that day I was torn and tortured by a strange 
and mordant shame. I shunned the rest of the 



164 Days of Discovery 

company and brooded in seclusion. And then 
with a sort of wild unthinking dash I seized my 
cap and ran, never stopping for a moment rill 
I had pulled the bell. In broken, half-defiant 
tones I got It over. The lady, to my great sur- 
prise, made little of It, and talked of the pleasure 
of snowballing, and asked me to stay to tea. I 
think she understood what I had been through. 
And I returned an hour later with a calm and 
equal mind. But the Incident had scored itself 
deep upon my fickle memory. I never now throw 
snowballs at girls' schools. 



XXIII 

THE BEAST IN THE HEDGE 

I BEGIN to relate at last the true story of the Beast, 
in the certain and depressing knowledge that it 
will not and cannot be believed by any rational 
person. To the reader it must ever be that 
least satisfactory form of narrative, a mystery 
without an explanation. In cold matter of fact, 
it may appear to many something worse than that 
of an untrue statement quite unsupported by 
proof. I am afraid I cannot help that. Child- 
hood is so full of mystery, of unreality, of ques- 
tions without an answer, of effects without cause, 
and a child lives so completely in a realm of 
fantasy, that for myself I have ever freely 
accepted the Beast as a phenomenon belonging 
to the Golden Age, and quite in harmony with 
the magic atmosphere of a world that was new 
every morning. 

I do not so much mind being told that the 
whole thing was a figment of our imagination — 

165 



1 66 Days of Discovery 

though I do not believe it for a moment — ^but I 
will not be told that our Beast was a weasel, a 
fox, a cat, a badger, or any other known quad- 
ruped, for it was not. And, further, I will not 
be told that it had escaped from a menagerie. 
Have I not diligently searched the Zoo and found 
there nothing even remotely like it? 

The affair of the Beast stamped itself upon my 
memory as a splendid and vivid incident, a revela- 
tion to be treasured in retrospect, and shared 
with my two companions as an experience that 
belonged to us alone. We have always shunned 
prosaic explanations and belittling solutions of 
the problem. For we are severely loyal to our 
Beast. We are quite clear that there is nothing 
to explain. If It was Magic — well, I suppose we 
may let it go at that. It only remains to relate 
the whole history of the affair from my own 
recollection of it, which is perfectly adequate to 
the smallest detail. 

We were playing — we three — on the lawn at 
the foot of the garden one bright and sunny 
afternoon, when the air was full of the sour, 
sappy smell of fresh-cut grass arid the stillness 
of the lazy hour was over all things. There was a 
short, steep bank leading down to the bottom 



The Beast in the Hedge 167 

lawn, which was bounded by the Walk and the 
old thorn hedge. Immediately beyond the hedge 
was a four-foot wall of stone, marking the drop 
to the level of the Field Below, and in the roots 
of the hedge were holes and crannies where one 
could crawl in and lie invisible from either side. 
It was a favourite hiding-place, and we were 
familiar with every yard of it. We had for the 
moment finished our game — a sort of develop- 
ment of croquet with the added spice of interest 
supplied by pitching the hoops on the slope of 
the bank, for we were ever incapable of playing 
any game according to its accepted rules — and we 
were resting listlessly upon the steps, when we 
were startled by a sound. 

I am at a loss quite how to describe it, though 
I believe that I could still imitate it faithfully. 
Something between a cough and a bark, let us 
say, but very minute and unassuming. Yet it 
arrested our attention, and we were all three 
looking straight at the hedge when the Beast 
appeared. It hopped up from the lower level 
among the roots, resting its forefeet upon the 
turf; perhaps I should say it "bobbed'^ up, 
just as one has seen a stoat rising in the grass to 
listen. There it was in the full light of day, 



1 68 Days of Discovery 

looking straight at us. For some few seconds 
it remained motionless, taking In the situation, 
then It shook Its head, sprang up on to the turf, 
ran along the hedge with a sort of eager, pattering 
gallop, looking neither to the right nor the left, 
for about thirty yards, paused for a moment, 
and dived back again out of sight. There had 
been nothing alarming about Its appearance, and 
we lost no time in rushing over to the spot where 
it had gone out of sight. Diligently we searched 
the hedge and the Field Below, prodding In all 
the crevices and turning up the fallen leaves. 
But we found no trace. The Beast had vanished. 
I have never met with It again, and I do not 
expect to do so. But I know that should It ever 
come across my path I shall have no difficulty 
whatever In recognizing It. 

And now I must describe It — and here you will 
laugh at me. It was perhaps eighteen Inches in 
length, and Its colour was of a foxy red. It gave 
one, when running along the hedge so that one 
had a full side view, a strong Impression of being 
tapered off. That is to say. It fell away In a sort 
of wedge-shape, from a bold head and shoulders 
to a small, sloping back, weak little hind-legs, 
and a sleek, dwindling tail like a rat. I am in 



The Beast in the Hedge 169 

difficulties when I come to describe Its head and 
face, for while it bore a very close resemblance 
to a full-grown lion — there is no question about 
its mane, which was very clearly marked — there 
was somehow about it (I know it is absurd) a 
strong suggestion of a horse. Perhaps I cannot 
put it more clearly than to say that while it had 
the features of a lion it had the expression of a 
horse. It shook its head curiously. There was 
nothing, as I have said, alarming or savage in 
Its aspect. Rather was It a merry little beast, 
extraordinarily active and alert. Its coat would 
appear to have been rough rather than sleek, 
and It was well proportioned In Its way. The 
only point that seemed Incongruous was its feeble 
little tail. I am afraid I can say no more of Its 
bark. We only heard It once and then quite 
indistinctly. 

It is a preposterous story, Is It not? I hope 
no one will waste time on any fruitless efforts 
at Identification. Rather take It from me that 
this beast cannot be whittled down and classified 
— that that was simply how it was. As soon as 
it had disappeared, we returned to the bank and 
sat down to face the situation. First we must 
compare notes as to our various Impressions. 



170 Days of Discovery 

On all leading points we were entirely agreed. 
It was the same thing that we had seen. There 
was some slight discussion upon the question of 
the tail, one of us likening it rather to that of 
a cat. The tail I have given, I should explain, 
is my own tail. But there were no other dis- 
agreements. The question then arose as to 
*Vhat we were to do about it." The matter 
was one of tremendous importance, and we must 
decide upon some common line of action before 
we mixed again with our fellow-men. And here 
the eldest and wisest of the trio declared our 
line of conduct. We must keep it dark, he said. 
It was no use. We would not be believed. We 
would certainly be laughed at. He for one was 
not going to subject himself to that. We knew 
what we knew. Let us keep it to ourselves. And 
for some years the secret was loyally kept. I 
think my relations with my two accomplices owed 
a good deal to the Beast. It was a powerful bond 
between us, and in later life when the time came 
when we confessed the incredible experience we 
were always ready to support and corroborate 
each other. 

Even now that strange, glowing, common 
memory remains. My two accomplices have 



The Beast in the Hedge 171 

travelled far since then, and In the course of 
their journey they have no doubt, like others, 
found something of disillusionment, much to 
call forth scepticism. But I know well that even 
now either of them will readily endorse this 
statement that I have made — save, perhaps, in 
the matter of the tail; there I must be allowed 
to hold my own opinion. It belongs to the cate- 
gory of a clear and definite experience. They 
are loyal as ever to the memory of the Beast. 
And let me ask my reader ere he dismiss with 
contempt this humble narrative, has he not also. 
If he will pause and search for It, some treasured 
memory of years ago, that Is akin to this of mine; 
some vivid, clear experience that he cannot defend 
which yet would leave behind a certain sense of 
loss were it explained away? 



XXIV 

THE COMING OF COURTESY 

The assimilation of new ideas may be regarded 
as the chief business and occupation of the 
nursery. The tram conductor's method of 
sharpening a pencil, the trick of the butcher's 
boy of wearing his cap backwards, old John 
Gardener's red handkerchief, Uncle Henry's 
violent method of blowing his nose — each of 
these was in its turn matter for consideration; 
each had to be weighed, and either dismissed as 
impracticable or incorporated forthwith among 
one's daily habits. From every side and through 
all manner of different channels new ideas kept 
presenting themselves with bewildering rapidity, 
and while many of them were no doubt accepted 
quite unconsciously, others must be subjected 
to a deliberate process of examination before 
they could be confidently adopted, often with 
grave searchings of soul. 

172 



The Coming of Courtesy 173 

To no small extent one's conduct and deport- 
ment were, of course, shaped and modified by- 
coercion from without. At every turn one came 
up against a certain meaningless code of small 
restrictions, known as Manners. It was no use 
fighting against that. Purely with a view to a 
quiet life, you had to make concessions there; 
and this was all the more easily done as the de- 
mands made upon you in this respect were of a 
wildly unmeaning nature — sufficiently annoying 
no doubt to one who preferred to choose his own 
course even in the smallest details, but perfectly 
harmless in themselves. Really if It gave Those 
in Authority any pleasure to see you taking soup 
noiselessly and by small Instalments, you would 
hardly care to make a fuss about It. Your attitude 
was akin to that of the smiling prize-fighter who 
was belaboured by his wife and family: "It 
pleases them, and it doesn't hurt me." Again, since 
they preferred to make a special point of It, you 
could no doubt find other and more subtle 
methods of conveying your exasperation than 
by slamming the door. That was better In 
the long run than the humiliating exercise, 
often repeated, of coming back and shutting it 
quietly. 



174 Days of Discovery 

It was by more or less conscious imitation for 
the most part that one fashioned one's ever- 
varying conduct and behaviour. But it seems to 
me, as I look back upon it, that the process was 
a very curious one, obscure and indirect. For 
it was not by observation of Grown-up Persons 
that hints of value could be obtained. They 
belonged clearly to a different world, wholly 
artificial and remote, governed by no compre- 
hensible laws, and only to be imitated in a spirit 
of hilarious ridicule. Their actions were for the 
most part unaccountable and their habits were 
generally to be honoured in the breach. And yet 
as time went on one was approaching more and 
more to their standards without directly admitting 
the soundness of them. It was as if their customs 
and observances had to filter down from the high 
lever to the lower through some channel that we 
could accept and understand. Thus we would 
never have dreamed of admiring the view from 
the drawing-room v/indows simply because we 
had Invariably heard it admired by visitors, but if 
the boy in the house opposite (who had been to 
London) expressed any satisfaction in the pros- 
pact one had to reconsider one's attitude. There 



The Coming of Courtesy 175 

might well be something admirable In It after 
all. 

It was an enormous work of civilization 
amounting almost to a complete reversal of our 
whole outlook upon life that was compassed by 
these means within a few short years. The dark 
age of barbarism, when Grown-ups were a race 
apart, when girls were a negligible and inferior 
order of being, when might was right, when 
refinement was the outward sign of weakness and 
effeminacy (all very well for girls), must give 
place to consideration for other people, to some 
measure of gentleness, even to some measure of 
humility. But the process was not carried out 
Imperceptibly or even by gradations. Rather 
was it in the nature of a series of sharp 
shocks. 

There was a time when clean finger-nails were 
not only a wholly unnecessary adornment but in 
themselves a folly and extravagance. They 
savoured of foppery. They aroused direct op- 
position In the mind of one who took a vigorous 
and healthy view of life. I remember when It 
seemed to me, quite honestly, that a hand In 
which each nail was monotonously clean and 



176 Days of Discovery 

symmetrically pared could hardly be looked upon 
as the hand of a man, In the best sense. And it 
distressed me to find this miserable foible adopted 
by one whom I whole-heartedly admired for many 
excellent qualities, not the least of them his 
ability to turn cart-wheels and his startling skill 
In making paper windmills. I remember reflect- 
ing upon the strange mixtures that one met 
with In human character. I supposed I must 
overlook It, try to forget It. But what a thunder- 
ing good fellow he would have been had he not 
fallen Into this sad weakness ! There came a day 
when I found my cousin Peter, older by some 
years than I and no small hero In my eyes, 
lustily plying a nail-brush. This was a direct 
challenge. 

I remonstrated with him, jeered at him. I 
pursued him for the rest of the day with sarcastic 
comments, and I was so far successful that he 
gave up the practice for a time. But he soon 
returned to It, and was not again to be shaken 
from his resolve. And for a while I was as one 
who had lost a friend and ally. It was to me as 
If he had gone over to the enemy, and I could 
view It In no other light. He had practically 
admitted the justice of the tyrannous and op- 



The Coming of Courtesy 177 

pressive code beneath which we lived. He had 
taken up his stand as the champion of Manners. 
Yet I could not hold out. I would find myself 
looking furtively at my own hands in odd mo- 
ments. I was no longer quite satisfied about 
them. I began to wonder what they would 
look like if I — as a mere jest — were also to 
cleanse and pare my nails. And at last, one 
evening when the coast was clear, shamefacedly 
I crept into the bathroom. 

Thus also came the rudiments of Courtesy, as a 
new revealing light upon our path. For myself 
I remember vividly the moment of its coming 
and the shock that I sustained. I cannot date 
any startling change in my way of life from that 
hour; the new pervading influence worked slowly, 
and it is only too probable that its mission is not 
now complete. Yet it was a sudden conversion, 
shattering my former ideals, setting up fresh 
standards in their place. 

Sidney, my eldest brother, had been spending 
a whole summer holiday with Uncle John in 
Ireland, and had come back with a bewildering 
wealth of new habits, new pursuits, new expres- 
sions with which to permeate the nursery. We 
were playing rounders in the Field Below and it 



178 Days of Discovery 

so happened that, in taking a drive at a full- 
pitch, he hit me with some force in the eye. It 
was excruciatingly painful, but I forgot the pain 
in a moment in sheer amazement at his subse- 
quent behaviour. For he strode up to me at 
once, put a hand upon my shoulder, and — said 
he was sorry! He — to me! Now we had of 
course learned the use of the perfunctory apology 
in dealing with Grown-up Persons. It was 
employed glibly enough if one trod on the toe 
of a caller. But that was only Manners. That 
an accidental injury inflicted upon one of your 
brothers could possibly call for any expression of 
regret (beyond that of telling him he was a fool 
for getting in the way) was so astounding a dis- 
covery that I could only continue the game as 
one in a dream, and sought solitude in the potting- 
shed as soon as it was over. There I sat on an 
upturned box wrestling with this new situation. 
Had it been anyone else I should have laughed 
it to scorn. But Sidney could not be wrong. If 
he had done it it must — incredible though it 
might seem — nevertheless be the right thing 
to do. 

When at last I came in to tea I was no longer 
satisfied that my former way of Hfe had been so 



The Coming of Courtesy 179 

perfect as I had believed it to be. I was face to 
face with a new vista in human relationships. I 
was beginning to suspect that I should have to 
start all over again. 



XXV 

IN THE TRAIN, 

I THINK there was no date in all the year, not 
even Christmas Day, that stood for so much In 
the estimation of the nursery as that of the 
migration in July from England to the North. 
And yet I do not believe that we looked much 
beyond it to the weeks that were to follow, the 
summer weeks of freedom and the endless days 
packed full with vivid interests far afield. Rather 
was the central object of our burning expectation 
the journey and the train. For myself I may 
safely say that there was only one night in the 
year when sleep forsook me, except when I fell a 
tossing victim to the toothache, and that was on 
the eve of this, our annual departure. It was 
Idle to attempt to compose for slumber a mind 
so ardently ablaze with bright anticipations. We 
would seem to have chosen quite capriciously 
the proper opportunities for festival, and I cannot 
remember that the journey home in October 

180 



In the Train i8i 

ever ranked as one of them. But the journey in 
July loomed large In the imagination weeks ahead. 
I sometimes wonder just how we would have 
regarded the modern corridor express had such 
been our conveyance in those days. No doubt 
to move along the passage, and especially to 
cross from one coach to another — where It clanks 
underfoot — would ha^^e been no mean adven- 
ture. To lunch In the dining-car would have 
been of course tremendous, were it permitted. 
But it is more than likely that that would not 
have been in the programme; at least it must 
not be reckoned on. Again, it would be very 
good to enter the guard's van simply by opening 
a little door — there is often a dog there, chained 
to the wall and longing for companionship, a 
calf in a sack, or a hamper full of fowls, besides 
the piled luggage, well worth Investigating in 
itself. Yet on consideration I strongly Incline to 
the belief that though for those of riper years 
the corridor train may be a vast advance in travel- 
ling methods, for small boys it is in no way to be 
compared with the old system of separate car- 
riages. For the essence of the thing was the 
splendid isolation of one's reserved compartment. 
Here was a seething train, full of restless, hurry- 



182 Days of Discovery 

ing persons, a heterogeneous crowd, drawn out, as 
it were, Into a long thread and packed away into 
their seats. And in the very heart of the con- 
fusion was our place of refuge, reserved by means 
of a beautiful blue ticket with our name writ 
large upon It, where none might break In upon 
us. For those few hours while the gay world 
slipped by on either side it was as much our own 
as the cupboard under the stairs, except for the 
presence of Authority, and even more Inviolate, 
for did not a cheerful guard come up and lock 
you In? 

The better to mark the great occasion, which 
was to be equipped with every luxury, we had 
set to work some weeks before to save up sweets. 
Sundry sticks of chocolate-cream fell In one's 
way In the ordinary course of life, and Those In 
Authority kept a store In the dining-room side- 
board of other welcome — if all too wholesome — 
sweetmeats, which were doled out at proper 
seasons. Sometimes we had a penny or two to 
spend: occasionally we gained possession of 
divers pieces of preserved ginger at dessert. 
There were many sources of supply; and when 
all these, with splendid self-denial, were set aside 
in a cardboard box in one of the drawers In the 



In the Train 183 

spare bedroom (for who would ever think of 
looking there?) they made a notable agglomera- 
tion by the time the day arrived; so that upon 
the journey one could really have enough, and 
no need to consider every mouthful with refer- 
ence to the next. But sweetmeats were not the 
only form of hoarded treasure. If anything of 
note in those few weeks had come our way as 
like as not we had obeyed the instinct to "save 
it for the train." I, who had a birthday some few 
days before, was always well equipped, and each 
of us would bring his contribution — of a new 
whistle (most appropriately used on entering into 
tunnels), a new knife (not to be employed upon 
the company's property), or a new paint-box, with 
which one could do no more than test the colours 
with a licked finger, for lack of water. But quite 
apart from all these occupations, there was always 
lots to do in a train. 

We had to find out in the first place whether, 
supposing we had not got a ticket, it would be 
possible to travel under the seat, as people do in 
books. Then that notice on the edge of the racks 
is in itself a challenge. They are not to be em- 
ployed for heavy luggage ? Well and good. But 
what constitutes heavy luggage? Does Archie? 



184 Days of Discovery 

Let's try him. Those racks are a good deal 
stronger than the Company makes out . And then 
there are the stations, and Archie must be allowed 
a place at the window to draw an engine, before 
the train starts again, and Colin wants to have 
some friendly badinage with his special chum, 
the guard; and I must buy a newspaper for a 
table-cloth — a penny is always allowed for that 
— for lunch time is at hand. And there is always 
the open question for debate as to "how quick 
she is going." One must pause to listen to the 
engine tugging on the way up Shap, and to 
watch the fences fly past on the way down. Then 
there are those bewildering telegraph wires which 
keep rising and falling and flowing along all the 
time, with a sort of twinkle at every post. Best 
of all there is the secret interchange of messages 
with the servants in the carriage behind. That is 
magnificent. You write the message on a scrap 
of paper and tie it firmly to a piece of string, and 
then it is paid out into the whistling gale by slow 
degrees until one feels a tug that indicates that it 
has safely come to hand. It is not at all unlike 
deep-sea fishing. 

Then there is one point, and only one, where 
you can catch a glimpse of the sea. That Is not 



In the Train 185 

a thing to miss, nor the big viaduct near Lowgill, 
nor the Border. That is a climax. It is customar} 
to begin talking broad scotch at once when it is 
passed. But the real train-game, of which I 
know well we had by no means a monopoly, is a 
sedentary, almost intellectual form of sport. It 
filled a useful place in the latter part of the 
journey, when your more explosive energies had 
abated and you were at last content to sit still. 
We had elaborated the simple outlines of this 
time-honoured device for keeping children quiet 
on a journey till we felt we had in a measure made 
it our own. It was played by two teams of two 
players each, stationed at the opposite windows, 
thus occupying all four corners of the compart- 
ment, and the winning side was that which 
reached a hundred first. The umpire, who had 
to act promptly at either side, hovered feverishly 
between. I cannot exactly undertake to remem- 
ber the code in detail, but I think the points 
scored were something like the following : For a 
cow, one — there were always lots of cows; for a 
dog, three; for a wind-mill, ten; for a carriage 
and pair, twelve. These were the ordinary 
counters, the pawns in the game. But there were 
also prizes of far greater value. Thus, for a black 



1 86 Days of Discovery 

sheep, twenty ; for a white horse looking over a 
gate, forty-five; for a donkey, fifty; and for a 
flock of sheep on the road, Game! 

And so the last hour slipped away, till we 
found ourselves in the country that we knew. 
At each fresh landmark there were shouts of keen 
excitement at the windows such as even a white 
horse looking over a gate had not evoked. And 
then we found we were slowing down, the 
last bridge resounded hollow beneath us, familiar 
cries were heard, the train drew up, and the 
Scotch guard with the great red beard came, key 
In hand, to set us free. I think the shepherd with 
a collie at his feet who took our place in the 
empty carriages would hardly get so much out 
of his journey as we had done. We thought he 
looked rather bored and weary as he settled In 
his corner, and I fear he did not understand as 
we did the art of travel; for there Is plenty to do 
In a train. 



XXVI 

ABOUT BEING IN THE MIDDLE 

I ONCE met one old gentleman who understood. 
He lifted from me In a moment all that sense of 
injustice, of harsh treatment at the hands of 
Fate, which I had been harbouring in secret. 
He left me with a memory which served to drive 
it out in the time to come. He even elevated 
my dreary Intermediate state to a special signifi- 
cance, and gave It a new value In my eyes. For 
it is, without question, something of a tragedy 
of childhood — to be In the middle. 

I know now, on looking back, that It was only 
for a few months, when the two cliques on either 
side hardened their hearts against me, that I 
had any real grievance on this score. But the 
peculiar tribulations of that period left their 
sting behind, and I must have got Into the habit 
whenever I found myself (from any cause) left 
out in the cold, of blaming this sinister accident 

187 



1 88 Days of Discovery 

of my birth, until I had elevated it into a prime 
misfortune. 

The ''Big Ones" and the "Little Ones'' 
each contrived somehow to fall into a distinct 
group, and if there were any good things going 
they were pretty sure, as it seemed to me, to get 
hold of them between them. The whole family 
was much too large a unit for most purposes. It 
must be divided, but when the division was 
made there was pretty sure to be a bit left over 
in the middle — and I was the bit. To the Christ- 
mas parties where one played Blind-Man's-Buff 
and where there was a conjurer or private 
theatricals went the Big Ones. To the Christmas 
parties where one played Hunt-the-Slipper and 
where there was a tree and large supplies of 
sponge-cake fingers, went the Little Ones. But 
there appeared to be few Christmas parties that 
fitted my case. The Big Ones to a great extent 
had their own interests and occupations, in which 
I was too small and insignificant to take part. 
The Little Ones resented my intrusion into their 
own special games and secret delights, knowing 
very well that I would consider them altogether 
too silly for one of my years. In the first case my 
role was that of a panting hanger-on, who could 



About Being in the Middle 189 

never quite keep up and who ran much risk of 
being sent about his business : in the second that 
of a superior critic, always ready to tender advice 
which was not wanted, and usually much better 
out of the way. Of course even in that dark 
winter I had my days — great days when I was 
smiled on by my superiors in return for some 
brilliant suggestion that they had seen fit to 
adopt, when I myself became to all intents and 
purposes a Big One, tasting rare joys of suprem- 
acy. There were also days when, descending to 
the lower scale, I was adopted for the time being 
as leader and chief of the Little Ones. But for the 
most part I was out of it. And the worst of It 
was that a sort of alliance between Big and Little 
was not altogether unknown. There were times 
when the two groups were on the friendliest 
terms, one simply exuding admiration, the other 
showing a beautiful and most self-conscious con- 
descension. They were so far apart as to be 
mutually attractive to each other, but I was 
much too like them both. Had the programme 
of our upbringing been quite consistent and every 
one of us passed in a steady rotation through each 
successive phase It would not have been so bad. 
But new ideas were sometimes adopted, generally 



190 Days of Discovery 

after I had passed the stage to which they applied. 
The Big Ones Vv^ere of course continually reaching 
a new stage of some sort — a later bed-time, an 
extension of bounds, a private sponge, school- 
room tea. These privileges also fell to me in 
due course, but somehow they had grown a little 
stale by then. I should have had no cause of 
complaint had those below me followed strictly 
on the same lines. But variations would be 
adopted. The statutory bed-time was put back 
half an hour, for Instance, the statutory pocket- 
money was advanced, an entirely new departure 
was made In the Important matter of the cake 
supply for nursery tea — after I had been drafted 
to the schoolroom. There was no real Injustice 
In these things. They were In themselves valu- 
able amendments. But while the Big Ones were 
already too far on to take much interest In them, 
I knew well that I had only just missed them. 
It was not fair! 

Often would I brood upon the thing's that 
were not fair, and more and more I came to 
attribute them to my intermediate position. 
On one such occasion, when two separate parties 
had left me alone and desolate In the nursery, I 
made a startling discovery, which emphatically 



About Being in the Middle 191 

was not fair. I was the only one, If you came to 
think of It, who never had any new clothes. My 
little sister had in that particular the immense 
weapon of her sex to defend her. But my small 
brother was coming off nearly as well. For most 
of my garments descended, in a more or less im- 
paired condition, from those above and the trouble 
was that by the time I had done with them they 
were of no use whatever to anyone else. I even 
went so far that night as to plan a special method 
by which I might bring home to Archie the fact 
that whoever had claim to new clothes he had 
none. I would start taking such scrupulous care 
of my garments that when I had grown out of 
them they would still be fit for active service. 
Then he would have to wear them. That plan, 
like most of the others that I conceived to 
mitigate my unfortunate position, came to 
naught. There was no cure for It till the coming 
of the old gentleman. And that was a most 
extraordinary and epoch-making event. 

The old gentleman was absolutely right in 
every way. I looked back upon him afterwards 
as one decorated with a halo of perfection. He 
was the only Grown-up I had ever known In 
whom I could not suggest Improvement. He came 



192 Days of Discovery 

from Australia and he had a unique faculty for 
understanding things. He o.Jy came once, and 
after he had finished his visit to the drawing- 
room, instead of going quietly out of the house, as 
did other visitors, he dashed upstairs, three steps 
at a time, and opened the door of the nursery. 
He must have found it by instinct, as he had no 
one to guide him. But he was quite equal to 
that. In he came, sat down on the sofa and 
joined at once in the conversation In the most 
natural way. At the end of three-quarters of an 
hour we had practically accepted him as one of 
ourselves, and were even making use of him (for 
he was very tall) to lift down sundry of our 
belongings which, having been used as missiles 
in the course of a bombardment of Alexandria, 
had lodged on the top of the high cupboard out 
of reach. But the astounding thing happened 
at the moment of his departure — for he was 
sorry he could not stay to tea. 

*'Which Is the middle one?" he demanded 
suddenly, as he took his hat. And when I had 
claimed that position, "Will you come and see 
me off at the station?" 

We crept noiselessly past the drawing-room, 
he with his finger on his lip (oh, he knew all 



About Being in the Middle 193 

about It!) ; and he did not help me on with my 
coat and pat my cap about and wonder if I 
ought to have a muffler, as others were wont to 
do. On the way to the station he discoursed at 
length upon this one engrossing subject of being 
in the middle. He understood. He revealed 
the cheering fact that he had been in the middle 
himself — and look how well he had turned out! 
And had he had no fun? — not a bit. He was 
only the middle of three, which was not, of course, 
such an extreme case as mine. But his elder 
brother had got the estate, and his younger sister 
had married a baronet, and he was simply packed 
off to a place called the Antipodes. So you see ! 
But he went on to show that he had really had 
the best of It in the long run. Middle Ones 
always do, I was to buck up, he said, 
and always remember that it was a general rule 
in families that the best stuff was found in the 
middle. "I know all about it," he concluded, 
*'the Big Uns put on too much side, don't 
they? And the Little Uns are so abominably 
spoiled, eh?'* 

And when he left me at the station he be- 
stowed upon me a tip of such staggering dimen- 
sions (gold!) that I went home in a car for fear 



194 Days of Discovery 

of being robbed, and did not dare to show myself 
In the nursery till I had discounted the extremes 
of jealousy beforehand by laying out a liberal 
part of it on chocolate-cream for the public 
good. 



XXVII 

SECRET HABITATIONS 

The prehistoric man within us dies slowly. With 
some of us he Is never wholly dead, but still may 
make his pleading heard, calling us back to the 
time when the Instincts of the savage played no 
small part In guiding our activities. Or whence 
comes this overmastering desire, that Is known 
to every small boy, for a hidden house or home, 
a camp or habitation that shall be all his own? 
A little girl's idea of "playing house" Is some- 
thing far different. It Is wholly conventional, 
and consists of an elaborate Imitation In every 
detail, as far as may be, of the genuine thing as 
she knows it. She must mark off the rooms with 
stones laid down in a laborious outline. She 
must put In the bed (draped In a folded handker- 
chief) , the table (of an upturned box) , and chairs 
and sofas, each In its allotted place. She will 
have the dishes ranged upon the dresser, poker 
and tongs displayed upon the hearth, a basin on 

195 



196 Days of Discovery 

the wash-stand, and a pillow on the bed. She is 
satisfied with the most feeble and inadequate 
means to these ends so long as she need not 
abandon them. Better a piece of broken slate 
to represent the hearthrug than have no hearth- 
rug on the floor. The whole amounts to a 
slavish but most barbarous copy of her home. 
It Is all very pretty, and she will spend priceless 
hours In these surroundings, setting the table 
with her little scraps of china, dusting her un- 
responsive rooms or shaking out a hearthrug that 
is hopelessly Inflexible. And she generally has a 
keen desire to display her ingenuity and will 
gladly ask you to take a hand in the game. 

The boy also has his houses, but they are secret 
and remote, and, far from being like his home, 
they must present. If possible, abnormal and 
eccentric features. He revels In a house on 
wheels, a house underground or on the water, a 
house of snow or a house of branches, a house In 
the face of a cliff or a house in a tree — anything. 
Indeed, but a house of stone built four-square 
upon the ground, though even that might be 
permissible if it could only be approached by 
crawling tortuously. For It Is a point of no 
small Importance that It should be diflicult — if 



Secret Habitations 197 

possible, dangerous — to come at, and bereft of 
any sort of common comfort in its mysterious 
inside. 

I see now the reason of the failure of our cabin- 
in-the-woods, though at the time I could not 
understand it. It was because some of these 
prime conditions had been ruthlessly trans- 
gressed. Archie, who had strong architectural 
leanings, conceived the notion of building it, 
and Authority smiled upon the undertaking. At 
first one looked upon it with that robust contempt 
which belonged to the enterprises of a younger 
brother. But ere long one was induced to lend a 
hand. And really he put it up with no little 
skill, and, working manfully for most of the day- 
light hours of a long holiday, completed, tarred 
and locked it with a key. It was a neat, small 
structure of rough planks, finely weatherproof, 
fitted with a table, a cupboard, and a bed, and 
pleasantly situated among the gorse bushes in 
the corner of the Field Below. It was indeed all 
that a house should be — and that was where it 
failed. I am convinced that had it had some 
outrageous feature, had it been set on piles in a 
swamp, or even had it been less painfully sound 
and capable all would have been well. But as 1 1 



198 Days of Discovery 

was we had no heart in it. It languished from the 
first, and ere a couple of years had passed it was 
made over (as a hen-house) to Tom Coachman, 
who tore it up and bore it home to his back 
garden, where it may still be seen, filling a useful, 
if degraded, office. 

When first the rage for house-hunting set in, 
any sort of cavity or burrow would serve the 
purpose. We rejoiced in many queer retreats 
where we found splendid isolation. There were 
camps among the rhododendrons in the shrubbery. 
(A "camp" was a sort of lairs, shut in by dense 
branches and arched over by trees, where one 
could peer out and catch a glimpse of passers-by 
— all unseen and unsuspected.) There was the 
stokehole beside the melon-house, a retreat of mos 
grateful memory, where you would shut down 
the lid above your head and lie upon heaped 
coke before the glowing fire, and the footsteps 
of your hereditary enemies — Callers — might even 
pass — it has happened — over your crouching head 
and they be none the wiser. There was a glorious 
little den in the quarry on The Green-Hill-Far- 
Away. 

I had lost all zest for these pursuits. Camps 
and stokeholes are naught to me now, but I still 



Secret Habitations 199 

look back with lively Interest and regret upon 
our house In the old holm oak. That was by far 
our happiest inspiration. The others had their 
day and were deserted one by one, but the tree- 
house met a tragic end while it still stood high 
in our affections. Had it not been for a miser- 
able scheme that was set on foot for enlarging 
the tennis lawn it might well have lasted out our 
time. For the old holm oak with its precious 
burden had to go. 

The house was poised at a height where no 
Grown-up would ever dare to climb, and so 
slender were the branches among which it rested 
that it swung with thrilling motion in the wind. 
But it was firmly fixed with stout ropes and stays 
to every available limb, and built Into its position 
like a nest. The floor was made of an old door 
discarded from a famous pottlng-shed, and when 
once it had been placed — a risky and laborious 
process — the superstructure was soon nailed on. 
Walls and roof were made of a variety of collect- 
ed materials — canvas, felt and carpet — and the 
whole front was In the form of a flap which 
folded up. All things are a matter of proportion, 
and it Is probable that its dizzy altitude was not 
more than thirty feet from the ground. But it 



200 Days of Discovery 

was almost completely hidden by surrounding 
leaves. 

And If I am asked what we did In the many 
hours we spent In it, I find myself completely at 
a loss. I fancy that to be In It at all was in Itself 
a sufficient occupation. There were books 
carried up to it that we never opened, pencils 
and paint-boxes that were never used. Curiously, 
one generally went up alone, or If there was more 
than one conversation often languished. One 
really had no time to spare for that. To be there, 
swaying gently with the branches, looking out 
upon a bewildering world, of green, watching 
the birds that came and went, or peering down 
at the little patch-work scraps of the garden, of 
flower-beds, gravel, or smooth-shaven lawn that 
were picked out by the sun between the leaves; 
it was enough. Best of all to be there In a heavy 
shower of rain, In the very heart of the pattering 
musketry of the myriad drops. I know the 
charm and fascination of It all had taken so com- 
plete possession of me that I would rise day after 
day at six In the morning that I might have two 
extra hours before others were awake to sit and 
dream far up among the branches. 

We never built another house when the old 



Secret Habitations 201 

tree had to go; soon, indeed, we had arrived at 
an age when tree-houses are of no more avail. 
But I doubt if in any of the many camping, 
caravaning, sleeping-out enterprises of my later 
life I have ever quite caught again that which 
was lost on that most fateful day. I still dream of 
a house in a tree that I shall build myself some 
day, deep in a forest and poised above a stream, 
and of hours that I shall spend there in the 
Spring, alone, well pleased with this old occupa- 
tion of doing nothing with a pure content. 



XXVIII 

SCORING.OFF^ 

It was at one time a favourite matter of discussion 
in the nursery whether it was correct to say "I 
scored him off," or "I score off him." There 
was a strong party in favour of the former on 
the ground of emphasis, while the latter was sup- 
ported by the more pedantic, who had begun to 
take an interest in grammar. Fortunately the 
point did not often arise, for there could be no 
question about the construction of the phrase 
in its most common form when it was used as a 
signal of victory and a paean of triumph in the 
exultant shout of "Scored off !" 

This was one of the leading practices of those 
distant days, for there was simply no end to the 
methods in which one might be scored off. It 
was less a state of continuous warfare, than a 
game of give-and-take, a matter of reprisals, of 
the balancing of accounts, of knowing oneself to 
be "one up." It did not entail much ill-feeling, 

202 



Scoring Off 203 

and I am sure that the distress of the Scored-off 
was never by any means commensurate with the 
deep joy of the Scorer. But you were bound to 
take a hand In the game if you would not lose 
your position among your fellows and sink into 
insignificance and contempt. For to be scored 
off — as was Cousin Herbert — without resentment 
and without any attempt to retaliate was to 
stamp yourself as no sportsman. It was exactly 
equivalent to the — miserable practice of giving up 
a game before it was finished because you were 
losing; and even Those in Authority, perceiving 
its iniquity, had made a special regulation against 
that. And the beauty of it was that this charming 
practice permeated every department of our lives. 
For if Archie by bagging the common hair- 
brush and thereafter chucking it behind the chest 
of drawers was able to get down in the morning 
in time for prayers, while you were late and were 
reprimanded therefor, it was a score-off — though 
rather a poor one. If he got the top of the cream 
for his porridge by reaching the breakfast table 
first it was a solid and substantial score-off for 
you. If you could make him late for school by 
hiding his boots you felt, of course, that you 
had got level and could start again on even terms. 



204 Days of Discovery 

These examples belong to the simplest and most 
straightforward type, along with the Apple Pie 
Bed and the Booby Trap. Working on the same 
lines, one would secrete unpleasant substances in 
the victim's pocket or remove his chair when he 
was on the point of sitting down. These were all 
useful in their way, but none of them could be 
regarded as first class. A really powerful score- 
off, and one which brought with it a full sense 
of satisfaction, must be more subtle. It must be 
a triumph of wit. This came chiefly into opera- 
tion in the successful prognostication of events, 
the discovery of secrets or the vindication of 
an opinion. For there was nothing in which one 
showed more vigour and tenacity than in forming 
an opinion and sticking to it. If I had once said 
that Aunt Mary was coming to tea on Friday it 
was useless trying to argue me out of the state- 
ment or to convince me that Thursday was the 
day. There was probably much violent conten- 
tion as to who was in the right, but all attempt 
at persuasion was wholly barren. And when at 
last the old lady turned up on Wednesday it only 
remained to decide which of the two competitors 
could consider himself the more completely 
scored off. 



Scoring Off 205 

To have discovered some new and startling 
fact was in itself an open challenge which would 
be taken up, often against great odds, almost 
automatically. If I (having perceived among the 
parcels on the hall table one of peculiar shape 
and skilfully put two and two together) had sur 
mised and announced that Archie was going to 
get a cricket-bat for a birthday present on the 
morrow, some one would be quite certain to 
deny it without going through the formality of 
asking the grounds of my conclusion. The debate 
would begin with an unprofitable interchange on 
the basis of "He is" and "He isn't," but before 
long a diversion would be caused by some one 
suggesting an alternative, say a pair of stilts (then 
much in vogue). Afer that there was not much 
more to be said, though that did not prevent us 
from saying much; it only remained to be seen 
which of us was scored off. But when the time 
came our sympathetic Interest in Archie's acquisi- 
tion would be quite submerged in our eagerness 
to learn the result of the dispute. 

But the most tremendous and effective triumphs 
were those in which an important piece of In- 
formation was being hoarded up and used as a 
weapon by Its possessor, and was discovered by a 



2o6 Days of Discovery 

competitor and published In spite of him. After 
persuasion, pressure, threats and all failed, and 
he still refused to tell the name of the new 
governess (which he had overheard) , the formula 
was "I don't care" (which was palpably untrue), 
*'ril find out In spite of you!" And If one did 
find out and made public proclamation of the 
intelligence at nursery tea, with what splendid 
force did one drive home one's victory In the 
brief and withering peroration "Scored off!" 

And that reminds me that the most elaborate 
and overwhelming score-off was perpetrated by 
the new governess, who rose by reason of It to 
staggering heights in our estimation. For we 
recognized that this was a level of the art far 
beyond our own clumsy efforts, to be kept before 
us for weeks to come as a glowing example. She 
had told Sidney and Colin (who were to be her 
pupils) that the following morning they would 
come into the schoolroom between one and two, 
without knowing it. It was an evening of great 
excitement. Was it true? If so, how could she 
bring it about? Was it thought-reading or 
somnambulism? Or a horrid thing called Hypno- 
tism that Colin said he had heard about? . . . 

Nothing remarkable happened during the 



Scoring Off 207 

night, when we all slept as usual. But that 
proved nothing. For they were to do it 'Vith- 
out knowing it." At 9 a.m. Miss Gardner arrived 
and found us waiting in force in the schoolroom 
to demand an explanation. She took us to the 
door and pointed out where she had writen the 
figure I upon one side of it and 2 upon the other. 
It dawned upon us. Sidney and Colin, without 
knowing it, had come in between one and two! 
And that was a score-off ! 



XXIX 

A STRANGE TONGUE 

The new language was much the most sweeping 
and adventurous of our many literary experi- 
ments. Long before that we had dealt largely 
In codes and secret cyphers. There was that 
system of hieroglyphics which was employed for 
sending messages by string and pulley from second 
storey windows to the garden below. It was 
altogether successful in its main object — that Is 
to say, it must have baffled the investigations of 
the enemy, had any of the messages fallen Into 
his hands. (The fact that they never did, and 
that indeed there was no enemy need not detain 
us). But it also had an annoying faculty for 
baffling the painful researches of the receiving 
correspondent himself. At least he must take 
his message away to the summer-house, get out 
his key and put his whole mind into it if he would 
succeed In making it out. Every letter of the 
208 



A Strange Tongue 209 

alphabet had a sign of its own. The thing was 
built up by a daring combination of the face of a 
clock with sundry diagrams out of the first book 
of Euclid, which — not having as yet been in- 
cluded in the dreary category of "lessons" — 
appealed to us directly by their native charm. 
But we were always in difficulties. The drafts- 
manship was defective : the number of segments 
of the clock which could be mutually distinguished 
was not very great, and one triangle, unless it be 
most carefully transcribed, is pretty like another. 
Messages became more and more terse and laconic 
and the time came when it was not considered 
quite sporting to send more than a single word. 
The difficulty of expressing oneself adequately 
in a single word again called forth an extensive 
code, in which one syllable represented a whole 
sentence. After that we were fairly happy for 
a time — though there was necessarily some monot 
ony in our communications. But when some 
one pointed out that there was now no need 
for the cypher, as the code word itself conveyed 
a hidden meaning, we felt that the whole system 
had broken down under the weight of its own 
complexity and Instantly abandoned It. Indeed 



2IO Days of Discovery 

there was a very strong revulsion of feeling. The 
very suggestion of a secret code was regarded 
with contempt. And when Archie was found, a 
whole week later, trying to concoct a new one 
he was very promptly suppressed. One certainly 
had, in those old days, the faculty for breaking 
off short and starting again. There were no loose 
ends and things did not drag on out of their due 
season. When we had done with a thing, we had 
done with it. We were not given to raking up 
the past. 

Then, of course, we published a newspaper. It 
began as a Daily, but the trouble about a daily 
newspaper, as we soon found, is simply that it 
appears every day. So we altered that . It then 
had a brief and rather distinguished career as a 
Weekly, until, under pressure of an active period 
of frost and snow — when our energies were fully 
occupied — it hastily announced its Intention of 
coming out in future on the first of every 
month. We had hoped to keep it on Its legs for 
a time as a quarterly, but it was not long before 
we were referring to It as the "Annual." Even 
then we were hampered by a sense of that 
terrible and machine-like regularity which at- 
taches to a periodical; and the last number of 



A Strange Tongue 21 1 

all bore the inscription "Published whenever the 
Editor feels inclined" — a state of affairs which 
never again occurred. 

The death of the paper was hastened by the 
fact that by that time we were all becoming en- 
grossed in authorship, as opposed to journalism. 
But a greater project awaited us. So far we had 
merely been aping the achievements of other 
men. Anyone could publish a rotten newspaper 
or write a silly book, or make up a beastly code, 
we told each other. We felt the need of a new 
field that belonged to us alone. This whole 
question of language and intercommunication 
was, if you came to think of it, horribly stale. 
Why should we be condemned to converse in 
the same terms as Grown-up People? Could we 
not among ourselves find a better way, which 
should shut us off from the generality of man- 
kind? The idea was comforting in itself and also 
it pointed to possible distinction. Already we 
could hear outsiders in tramcars, remarking to 
one another when we entered. "Oh, yes, those 
are the children that don't talk English." The 
only question was — how was it to be done? A 
day was set apart, as an experiment, on which 
we would communicate only by signs. That was 



212 Days of Discovery 

a strange, sad, unsatisfactory day. It was as if a 
shadow had descended upon us, and it was small 
comfort to be told in the evening by Those in 
Authority that it had been quite a pleasure to 
have us about the house and that it was a long 
time since we had been so good. And the system 
broke down hopelessly. Archie lost his temper 
altogether when his efforts to communicate the 
fact that he had seen tadpoles in the pit were 
construed by me Into a request for the loan of 
my knife. So that was no good. Very well, 
only one course remained. We must make a 
new language. 

We held a very serious and Immensely Impor- 
tant meeting on the question in the stable loft. We 
agreed that we had been forced Into It, that there 
was no other way. We admitted that at first 
sight It appeared a big undertaking — we did not 
wish to underrate It. We were prepared for the 
necessary sacrifices of time and thought and 
energy; and we had no doubt whatever that we 
could carry It through. We should get pretty 
sick of It perhaps, still there must be no slackness, 
until the work was completed. We estimated, 
not without awe, that It would take up nine half- 
holidays. 



A Strange Tongue 213 

That afternoon we converted the stable loft 
Into an office, provided one pencil each, and pen 
and ink for the fair copy, a large roll of drawer 
paper for rough manuscript, and a penny exercise 
book for the completed dictionary. And so we 
set to work. Every word was to have a new 
formation : It was to be a word that had not been 
used before: there were to be no tenses, con- 
jugations, numbers, genders, nor any parts of 
speech. It was a perfectly straightforward pro- 
position. We were simply to enter up all the 
words that we were ever likely to use which began 
with A, find equivalents for them, and then on 
to B, and so on. 

It went swimmingly the first day. Down they 
went — ^Apple, Animal, Airgun and Aberdeen. 
We thought of no less than twenty-seven, and 
being then satisfied that we had exhausted the 
subject, we took it In turns to allot new words to 
them. It was wonderful to observe how quickly 
we got on — BiM, Spick, Sport. . . . "You must 
remember that it will take you fellows some time 
to learn this language," remarked the scribe, as 
he closed the book for the day. "But at any 
rate we've finished A." 

The real trouble was that there wr^e omissions. 



214 Days of Discovery 

At the second meeting, which should have been 
devoted to B, it was pointed out that we had so 
far no verbs, and we had to go back upon the old 
ground, which was disappointing. However, we 
made some headway. At the third sitting the 
list for both the first letters of the alphabet was 
found to be terribly defective and, after a very 
lively session, we began to lighten the ship. 
"We'll have to chuck out adjectives," said the 
scribe. "We can easily get on without adjectives." 
Archie developed a perverse ingenuity in thinking 
up words that had been forgotten, even then. 
We had to be continually harking back. The 
meetings became disorderly, and the attendance 
fell off. But it was not so much the magnitude 
of the task that killed the language, it was the 
sheer lack of new words of which to build it up. 
Before we had come to the end of C, it was quite 
impossible to invent one that had not done 
service before, without running to four or five 
syllables. We would sit round, furiously racking 
unresponsive brains That wretched English 
language seemed to have bagged them all. Then 
it came to light that we had already used the 
same word — Pape, I think It was — for Autumn, 
Book, and Baby, and when Sidney, the scribe, 



A Strange Tongue 215 

heroic to the last, decided to distinguish them by 
accents, the whole enterprise came down with a 
crash. 

That was the end of It, and we were never 
given to raking up the past. 



XXX 

WHAT TO BE 

We were not allowed to talk In bed. And really, 
on looking back, It Is very difficult at first to Im- 
agine when we did find time for any conversation, 
In the era of perpetual motion. Every day was 
a sort of headlong scramble, from the moment 
when one tumbled — or was flung — out of bed 
till the light was taken away in the evening and 
we were left to compose ourselves for sleep. 
Seldom did one sit still long enough to talk, 
except at meals when one was otherwise occupied. 
There was always too much to be seen from the 
top of a tram or out of a railway carriage window. 
One was In far too great a hurry on the way to 
school and too actively exuberant. In the joy of 
one's recovered freedom, on the way back. And 
yet there Is no doubt that a good deal of talking 
was wedged in somewhere. There were moments 
of reflection after all, contemplative moods, 
occasions for discussion, argument and debate., 

216 



What to Be 217 

Perhaps It would be a November evening In the 
last half-hour before tea, when old John Gardener 
had heaped up a great smouldering fire of fallen 
leaves which filled the whole garden with their 
sweet, earthy, choking smoke, redolent of autumn, 
of Intimate, domestic things, of the time of year 
for gathering In about the hearth. There on an 
upturned flowerpot beside the glowing fire or in 
a wheelbarrow (there Is no more delightful 
lounge than a wheelbarrow) one might be con- 
tent to sit munching an apple and talk awhile. 
Or perhaps It would be on a still summer after- 
noon. In the dazzling sunshine among the tumbled 
hay, sprawling with a cap drawn over one's eyes, 
that one found a fit occasion for debate. At 
such times there was one subject above all that 
gripped our attention, that ran on perennially 
with unflagging interest, that was never out of 
place — What we would like to he. 

Growing up was still a remote contingency. 
We looked forward to that strange, shadowy 
future state, like an undiscovered land beyond 
the mountains, not with any eagerness or desire 
to enter In. I think we regarded It rather as a 
necessary misfortune and our speculations (as to 
the part that we should play) chiefly as a means 



2i8 Days of Discovery 

of making the best of it, when the time should 
come. Tremendous vistas were opened up, but 
the whole thing was like a fairy tale, remote and 
quite unreal. One could not definitely imagine 
oneself grown-up any more than one could imagine 
oneself a horse or a dog. And thus there was a 
very close affinity between the two variants of 
the discussion. What will you be when you grow 
up? and What would you like to be here and 
now? 

We soon came to a deadlock over the second 
question, however, simply because, generally 
speaking, everyone wanted to be a Squirrel and 
it was difficult to decide who had bagged it first. 
If anyone could really lay claim to that Idea 
and succeed in reserving it for himself. It was 
sometimes possible to take some interest in other 
less attractive roles. Birds were generally pop- 
ular, and Archie (whose ideas were never nice) 
often declared, in the teeth of opposition, that he 
would like to be a Rat. To do him justice he had 
no special hankering after living the daily life of 
the rat. What he wanted to discover, and estab- 
lish beyond dispute, just what you came to when 
you followed up the little tunnel that ran into 
the bank from the hole beneath the pantry 



What to Be 219 

window, and whether It had any connection with 
the manhole In the yard. The only person he 
had ever seen who used that route was a rat. 
My little sister on one occasion struck a new note. 
She had been gazing dreamily Into the heavens 
and when the question was put to her she an- 
nounced, without a trace of hesitation or delay, 
that she would like to be a cloud. But we were 
not at all sure about that. It sounded rather as 
if it might have come out of a book. Sooner or 
later the thought of the swaying branches and 
the depths of greenery, of clever, dainty patter- 
ings along dizzy tracks and wild leaps from tree 
to tree would drive out all other imaginings. 
And so we got back to the squirrel. It came to 
this. If we couldn't be a squirrel we would stay 
just as we were. 

On the other question — of our future state 
and profession — there was far more diversity of 
opinion. I sometimes wonder if we ever for a 
moment expected to carry out the intentions 
that we so clearly expressed. It is probable that 
one never anticipated becoming a Plumber any 
more seriously than one anticipated becoming a 
Squirrel. It was a pure exercise of the imagina- 
tion in either case. What one wanted to do was 



220 Days of Discovery 

to picture oneself playing a part and living a life. 
We were immensely obsessed with this vital 
question. It seemed to us of the very first im- 
portance. If you could not or would not say 
what you meant to be, you were wilfully con- 
cealing an important aspect of yourself from your 
fellows. If you didn't know what you meant to be 
you were simply contemptible. It was almost as 
bad as not knowing how old you were. Thus when 
a stranger was introduced to our circle — which of 
course we resented — after the two preliminary 
questions of his name and age there followed at 
once, simply to complete the introduction, the 
demand: "What are you going to be when you 
grow up?" His future treatment depended in 
no small extent upon his reply to that. 

Of course we were continually revising our 
intentions and adopting new professions. It 
would have been no fun if we had remained con- 
stant to an Ideal. And there were times when one 
simply could not make up one's mind. When I 
had finished with the plumber (having seen the 
home, in a back street, of my friend Mr. Pearce 
and found It not at all to my taste) I was for 
some weeks torn In two between the rival claims 
of a couple of professions, or perhaps I should say 



What to Be 221 

callings — ^both of which struck me as being hugely 
desirable. I was determined to be either a Mis- 
sionary or a Smuggler. My eldest brother 
wanted to be a Lamp-lighter, for in those days 
there was a poetic figure which flitted by every 
evening about dusk with a long twinkling pole 
over his shoulder. I would have been a lamp- 
lighter myself I think had there been no other 
in the family. 

We had strong leanings towards the rarer and 
more unusual class of labour. Bill-stickers, 
Sandwich-men, Hawkers all had their run of 
popularity. I think we rather prided ourselves 
on not wanting to be Sailors, because that seemed 
to be expected of us. There was once an uncle 
who had asked the vital question and gone on 
with a disgraceful levity to add ^'A Sailor, I 
suppose? Run away to sea, eh?" Colin was 
the most consistent. He was going to work a 
magic lantern and nothing would shake him from 
his purpose. 

Well do I remember the day when Sidney, who 
had begun to go to school — real boarding school 
— came home for the holidays with an entirely 
new answer to the riddle. We felt at once that 
it was the beginning of the end. For when on 



222 Days of Discovery 

the first evening he was asked the familiar ques- 
tion, he told us, in the most off-hand manner, 
that he was going to be a Cotton Broker (he had 
gone away only three months before a confirmed 
Lion Tamer) and the announcement was most 
coldly received. It was clear that he had some- 
how lost the proper atmosphere of the game. 
That could hardly be a pure leap of the imagina- 
tion: there was a taint of deliberate intention 
about it. . . . Was it possible that he would 
really grow up to be a Cotton Broker? 
I have only to add that he did. 



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